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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29598951">Little Love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessarys/pseuds/Jessarys'>Jessarys</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Baldur's Gate, Baldur’s Gate 3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Animal Death, Blood and Torture, Child Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Late Night Writing, Multi, My First Work in This Fandom, Neutral Evil, One Shot Collection, Other, Post-Canon, Snuff, Vampire Bites, Work In Progress, questionable morality</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 13:34:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,194</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29598951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jessarys/pseuds/Jessarys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Now a vampire lord, Astarion may not be able to touch the sun anymore, but he does have something few other vampires do: a child. A born and bred vampire-lord under his control, more powerful than a spawn... but twice as aggravating. Is it his actual child? Some anomaly he plucked off the street? Who knows. But it's definitely come with its challenges, and he's hoping his new protege is worth the effort. If nothing else, his ego at least has a new partner in crime who worships everything he does. </p><p>A collection of one-shots depicting the chaos and adventures of Astarion and OC Lirella the Vampire, a disaster duo at its... worst.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Gifts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Astarion arrives home with a few gifts for his newest ward, Lirella, to choose from. Not that the gifts would see anything about this as something to treasure...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>🦇ᴅᴇꜱᴘɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴏx ᴍᴀʏ ꜱᴀʏ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ʙʏ ɴᴏ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇᴅ ᴡᴏʀᴋ. ɪ'ᴠᴇ ꜰɪxᴇᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴄᴇ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴀᴍ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏʙʟᴇᴍꜱ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ɪᴛ ꜱᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴅ ᴀꜱ "ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪɴ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴇꜱꜱ." ɪ ᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴡᴇᴇᴋʟʏ ɴᴏᴡ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴄs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜰʀᴇᴇ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴏʀ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴏn Tumblr: Jessaryss. 🦇</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>
  <a href="https://youtu.be/5oXY-PdV4WE">Ambient Music For This Chapter // General Writing Ambience</a>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b><strong>••¤  🦇  ¤••</strong> </b>
</p>
<p>
  <strong>     "𝕲𝖔 𝖔𝖓 𝖓𝖔𝖜. 𝕻𝖎𝖈ƙ 𝖔𝖓𝖊."</strong>
</p>
<p>     Later on, she’d come to know this smirk, the sweet purr in his voice, for the cruelty it was. But she’d only been a child at his lap then. At his complete and ever-changing mercy, and knew no bliss but that.</p>
<p>     Anticipation roiled in his red eyes, she recalled― like happy wildfire― as he gave her a gentle shove. He’d been more excited for the gifts than she who would receive them. They were arranged for her in a single-file along the marble: their faces bruised, shackles tight into the skin, defeat crusted over them like dried sweat. Her heart was more alive than father’s, but it was still a miracle it raced as much as it did at the smell of their blood. Hours old, and too deep in the fibers of their tunics to make a fuss over, but a delight nonetheless.</p>
<p>     Lirella looked back at him, unsure of his generosity for reasons she didn’t yet understand.</p>
<p>     “For me…?”</p>
<p>     “Yes, of course for you.” he said. “Now go on. Pick whichever one you want. But be sure of it, love, for they will be yours to keep forever and eternity.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Yours. Want. Keep.</em>
</p>
<p>     Holding her bear closer, she skipped toward the row of gifts. The noise that drummed from their veins was always so loud, so thrilling. She’d never been able to quiet it, save for drinking the music dry. It was this noise that differentiated them from her and papa. She knew that much at least. But for the first time, she had to imagine them as something more than a meal. As a friend, perhaps. A caretaker. Mother.</p>
<p>     How could papa ask her to do such a thing? To give up a snack and instead give it a name? A purpose? It seemed an impossible thing to do when their wounds so fresh, their pulses so quickened, consumed her every sense. She’d had lunch that night already but the yearning, the yearning...</p>
<p>     The first gift she approached was a handsome young thing. Square jawed, broad shoulders slumped in dishonor. A soldier? Squire? Papa’s choice, no doubt. But she did not like his vengeful stare. And much as her porcelain dolls would gossip about his looks during parties, she doubted he’d be much help when buying ribbons or hats.</p>
<p>     The second was a tiefling. Red of skin, eyes dark, horns that corkscrewed upward. She was beautiful in every sense of the word. Her scent was enticing enough; like the fireplace in the drawing room, and a bouquet of flowers she didn’t know the name of.</p>
<p>     She’d reached a doughty hand toward the woman’s face when the chains cracked and whipped at the ground. The tiefling jerked away from the child’s touch; bucking, thrashing, anything to defy her captors. Were it not for a spawn’s grip on the chains, she’d have gored the child, toppled the guard. Maybe, if her wounds were forgiving, dashed free.</p>
<p>     “Abomination.” the tiefling spat. “I’d rather die a thousand deaths than be a toy for this… this vile miscreation! My party will come looking for me and every last one of you monsters will be begging for the sun, for it will be far more merciful than what’s coming to you.”</p>
<p>     The child tilted her head. This wasn’t how it was done, of course. By the time the mortal ones reached her palate, they were quiet. Subdued. Sometimes they’d have a leftover scream or moan hidden at the back of their throats, but merely for flavor. This was not how it was supposed to work. Her toys only spoke when she made them, and not a moment before or after.</p>
<p>     “This one’s mean. I don’t like it.” she said.</p>
<p>     Astarion laughed. His sweet tone was for her ears, yet the words, she knew― the serrated weight of them― were all for the tiefling’s. “Oh, it’s just the fear talking, love. They do that, you know. When they finally realize they’ve no way out. How very close they are to fate. But you needn’t worry. Once she’s yours, she’ll never say a mean thing again.”</p>
<p>     She liked that thought. She liked that one bite from papa and all the nasty things would go away. He had shaped her whole world to be like this. Every spawn that walked the halls, every mean ‘ol hunter in their dungeons, every drop of blood she ever tasted: all curated by his design. He had the power to make things how he wanted. And if he so favored, how she wanted too.</p>
<p>     No one would harm them again.</p>
<p>     She grinned back at the shackled morsel, satiated where once there was hunger. This one she would taste when it was well and stewed. It would learn how things were done in the dungeons like all the rest who came bearing stakes and a cleric’s sigil.</p>
<p>     The third gift kneeled with her head bowed, a curtain of damp light hair shielding her from inspection. The quiver and shake of her body was all that prevented her from being truly invisible. Her torn and mangled wear proposed she’d been wearing a full set of armor upon arrival, confiscated so she could be sat helplessly before the child. Adoringly plump, and soft where it was most welcomed, there was still a strength to her figure. Were she able to stand, she’d be taller than papa and all the spawns in the room! Arms that held tightly, shoulders that carried burdens... she was such a sweet, sweet kind of mighty.</p>
<p>     The child swept away the woman’s hair. Beneath were the trembling lips and crying, hazel eyes of a defeated warrior.</p>
<p>     “Please…” a pathetic noise creaked out of her lips. “Please, don’t do this.”</p>
<p>     Lirella stared at the light in her gift’s eyes. For all the curiosities of the world, the born-vampire who never once knew the touch of life coursing through her veins, this would tear at her all her years to come. That light. That… dear peculiarity. She knew she loved, craved, needed, coveted blood. And she also knew that these ones with the swirling music, rushing heartbeats, bled it. That used to be enough for her until she saw the life in their eyes. And the only way she’d come even close to knowing it, would be to drink it.</p>
<p>     And now, when the living ones whined, it pushed an energy through her body like none she’d felt before. This burst of want and hunger scorched down her arms, into locked knees, sunk into the aching pit of her. Her teeth tickled as if they’d prance out of her jaw, unable to quell the anticipation. The light in her gift’s eyes was too wondrous. She wanted it in her.</p>
<p>
  <em>Now.</em>
</p>
<p>     She wanted this one’s strength. Their warmth. Their beautiful, wonderful eyes and height and the aura of one so dedicated and kind.</p>
<p>     “This one.” said the child, barely a whisper.</p>
<p>     Tears poured heavier from the woman’s eyes. Lirella watched curiously as the woman struggled to put together a full breath. Her limbs quaked with violence, her heart thrashed at her ribs.</p>
<p>     Delightful.</p>
<p>     “I want this one.” The child smiled at her father.</p>
<p>     “You’re sure? Not the handsome soldier over there?”</p>
<p>     “I’m sure. I like this one a lot. She makes me happy.”</p>
<p>     Astarion rolled his eyes and sighed, “I suppose that’s all I could ask for. Aw well. One day, Lirella, you’ll have better taste. Hells, I hope.”</p>
<p>     He stood from his chair at the center of the table. While he was no taller than the spawns around him― in fact, shorter and leaner― the idea of a vampire lord’s approach made him so much more terrifying to those already helpless on their knees. And he knew it too. He came to them knowing each step he took was another stab of fear, of suspense in their nightmare.</p>
<p>     His hand trailed the warmth of the woman’s features, noting every writhing muscle, how her tears dribbled onto his fingers, the quick rise and fall of her chest. Her panic was invigorating. His teeth weren’t even on her and he could taste the adrenaline coursing through, that feverish essence of life that once knew a home in his own form.</p>
<p>     “Please… you don’t have to do this. If you let me go, I― I won’t tell anyone who you are. I promise. You’ll never see or hear of me again.”</p>
<p>     “Says the stake-bearing cleric.” his nails dug into her chin.</p>
<p>     “Please! Please, please. I have a family! Children. Th-They need me… I have to… I have to go home. I have to see them.”</p>
<p>     “Good. Then you’re more than qualified for the job.”</p>
<p>     “Lathander, please protect me.” cried the woman in the only breath she could muster, urine now soaking her breeches. “Please―!”</p>
<p>      Astarion bit quick and hard into her scream. Her taste was immediate, holy and proud on his tongue as she struggled in his arms. He enoyed his treats best when they were listessly sprawled out over the bed, the sweat of sex peppered on their skin. But he was not averse to this little dance either, to the feel of their thrashing, their screams reverberating in his mouth. This was when he felt most powerful. When he drank from pure adrenaline and fear. It was almost… almost… like being alive again.</p>
<p>     But he took a pause, removing his teeth. He had promised his littlest pet a treat, and Hells, he’d never hear the end of it should the brat be denied anything. His daughter, awkward as it was to call it― her― that, had been standing entranced at the spectacle. Her large red eyes almost twitched with hunger.</p>
<p>     With a smile, he signaled Lirella near. She’d rarely shared a meal with papa as he didn’t consider her an engaging enough dinner date. She was either too messy or too loud, didn’t understand the nuances of conversation he often enjoyed. Her hunger now, however, overshadowed any questions. She was at his side before she’d felt herself move, her mouth already opened and demanding a taste.</p>
<p>     Poor child didn’t yet have the teeth to dive deep enough to vein. At least, not so precisely. So he removed a slender dagger from his side and slid it across the cleric’s wrists. This made the child shriek with giggles, rocking excitedly from foot to foot. Gently he guided the bloodied wrist to his little one as one would a bottle to a baby and she latched to the wound without hesitation. Her tiny teeth would gnaw and widen the wound― excruciating, no doubt, to the wailing cleric― but sweet as syrup in her mouth.</p>
<p>     Together they drank from her panic, supped on the last of her blessed life ‘til she was limp in their embrace. No god had come for her. In their arms, she faded away without so much as a hope. The fight had been stilled in her. Her body stopped its shaking. She was totally and completely theirs.</p>
<p>     Astarion would fight his desire and stop before the heart stopped. Worse was fighting his child’s greedy nature, and prying her from the blood perhaps more rough than he should have. Yet… as necessary. Together, in a moment the girl would hold through all her years as precious in every way, they listened for the final heartbeats. The quieting of the music. And watched life’s color fade away from her skin.</p>
<p>     She would feel incredible pain, this cleric. Unable to move, unable to cry out, she’d be trapped in her own gut with nothing but the acidic agony of vampirism that cut through her. Like her soul was somehow bloated, banging against her ribs to be free. Her chest collapsing. Veins hollowed. Torn. Ashen. Bones turning to ice, piercing every organ. She was imprisoned in a body that no longer moved, but understood the weight of herself. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t cry. Her unfocused hazel eyes peered at her demise like a dream, and yet knew it to be too real.</p>
<p>     Lirella had never seen the mortal ones turn before. Had never, before this moment, realized that every vampire in this room had undergone this ritual except for her. She was the only one who never knew this kind of death. Consequently, neither this kind of life. What it was like to lose it. To feel it slipping away, turning into something else.</p>
<p>     She laid herself beside the dying woman. Seeped herself in the quiet as she laid her head on her chest.</p>
<p>     There was nothing. Like her chest, like papa’s. Nothingness swelled within and she didn’t know if that was wrong or right. It had never seemed odd before. Never meant anything.</p>
<p>     And then the woman moved. No breath left her mouth where she would have wanted to wail, plead, sigh. She knew what she’d lost at once. Her body… did not know her. It only knew a hunger, all-encompassing, where she knew her own child had once grown inside her. And revulsion now stirred for the one cuddled at her breast.</p>
<p>     She’d be given to her. Made a toy. A nanny, a packmule for that… thing! That monster. <em> No. NO.</em> She was a cleric to Lathander, sworn to erase the undead. Now… one of them. A slave to a new, tiny master and her vile, vile father….</p>
<p>“First,” a voice filled her ears, “Thou shalt obey me in all things.”</p>
<p>
  <b> <strong>••¤  🦇  ¤••</strong> </b>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>Thank you for reading, lovely! Sure, this was written at 2AM with a no going-back attitude hidden in my latte, and it's definitely some very purple prose, but I appreciate it even if you just skimmed. Please feel free to leave a review if you're feeling generous.</b><br/>••¤  ⚰️ ¤••••¤  ⚰️ ¤••••¤  ⚰️ ¤••</p>
<p>Lirella is an old character of mine from a D&amp;D campaign that ended all too abruptly. She was an NPC child of my MC and a vampire lord, who she seduced in order to save her life. Several months later and Lirella appeared, and my mortal MC loved her as much as any mother could. But happiness was never to be. For the characters as well as the campaign. </p>
<p>BUT Astarion, and the entirety of the Baldur's Gate fandom, gives me another great excuse to revisit her character, and I will be gushing about her nonstop because I love her. This will be a whole series of short stories dedicated to her and Astarion's evil family times as I would imagine them to be. </p>
<p>(𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗯𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗟𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗮'𝘀 𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗱, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮 "𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗣" 𝘀𝗼𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆. 𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝗱𝗼𝗽𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗶𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁!)<br/>••¤  ⚰️ ¤••••¤  ⚰️ ¤••••¤  ⚰️ ¤••</p>
<p> 𝙏𝙒 𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀: 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙞𝙣 𝙣𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙩𝙝𝙮 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩-𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥 𝙤𝙧 𝙚𝙣𝙫𝙞𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩. 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙩𝙤𝙭𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮, 𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙪𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙣𝙙/𝙤𝙧 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙖𝙗𝙪𝙨𝙚. 𝙄𝙩'𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙪𝙩. 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙣𝙤 𝙚𝙭𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙨.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Doll</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The concept of life proves difficult for the born-vampire Lirella, who's callous hunger starts to raise suspicion and fear among the commonfolk. Now, Astarion has to do his best to explain it and keep the child's killing spree within reason.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>••¤  🦇 ¤••</p><hr/><p><strong>      𝓥𝖆𝖒𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖊 𝖍𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘? 𝕴𝖓 <em>𝖍𝖎𝖘</em> 𝖈𝖎𝖙𝖞? </strong>No, no. It was too early in the game for this. Sure, he might have been a little hasty in making some of his spawns, but what new vampire lord wouldn’t be? If anyone else with his caliber of power had just spent the night with a man as young, chiseled, and hung as some of his spawns, they’d risk it all to have them quick as possible too. But there was no way he’d been <em> that </em>sloppy to have vampire hunters at his back already. Covetous, but not careless.</p><p>   He wasn’t yet established. Didn’t have the numbers, the pull that his old master did. And powerful as he was, fighting off a mob wasn’t something he looked forward to. The cityfolk only knew him as the mysterious wealthy noble with a taste for… well, perhaps a bit of...indulgence. Parties, fine wines, a partner or two, or three. That sort of thing. But certainly not the blood of the innocent. Oh, no. Not him. There’s no way they could suspect him. Hopefully.</p><p>   “Vampires? Are you sure?” he gasped, forcing innocence into his eyes.</p><p>   The noblewoman fanned herself faster, “Well, no. Not for sure. But from what I’ve heard, the old baron himself leased these ‘alleged hunters’ his riverside manor to make a base of sorts. So they’re here to stay at least. Of all his fine homesteads, he gives them the one surrounded by running water. Coincidence? Who knows? But I’d surely love to find out.”</p><p>   “As would I.” he said. “Vampires are such ferocious creatures. I don’t dare imagine what falling prey to such a monster would be like...”</p><p>   “Not that the sight of you isn’t delicious in itself, lovey, but I don’t think this is one that’d fancy you for a meal. Most of the victims have been children.”</p><p>   “Chil―  Pardon. You said… children?” </p><p>   “Yeah. It’s a real shame. Lady Dale’s been in a state of complete shock ever since her little boy was found dead at the docks… two puncture wounds in his neck. Or so rumor has it. But she’s not the only one. Five kids’ve mysteriously died or went missing this past month alone. The Eomanes are offering a pretty sum for their youngest daughter of seven years. She’s the most recent one. Gone three days.”</p><p>   He cast his eyes to the side, hoping his arched brows and contemplative frown would be attributed to the oh-so tragic loss of life, and not that the likely murderer was at home. No doubt shoving her hands into a jar of sugary blood-made-jam, or blissfully unaware of any consequences whatsoever as she hurled stuffed animals down the stairs as a ‘mass sacrifice,’ she called it. Little brat.</p><p>   “Wasn’t your little one<em> ― </em> Lirella, the name was, right? Beautiful child. Wasn’t she friends with the Eomane girl?” said the noblewoman.</p><p>
  <strong> <em>   Shit.</em> </strong>
</p><p>   Was she? <em> Fuck. </em> He didn’t know. The girl might have mentioned having a friend over once or twice, and there’s no way he’d have said yes. He probably told Sylowen or Taran to deal with whatever tantrum ensued; he’d have to interrogate his spawns later.  Those two knew Lirella best, he supposed. They’d know who her “friends” were. </p><p>   “Oh, yes. Maybe not close friends, but acquaintances, rather.” he said. “But children see every smile or compliment as friendship, and my poor, sweet Lirella has just been devastated by the whole affair.”</p><p>   “Aw. Life can be cruel at any moment. It’s a lesson that’s better learned young, as much as I wish they didn’t need to learn it this way. And best you keep Lirella at home for a while, yes? At least until we know what’s out there killing are young ones.”</p><p>   “Of course. She’ll be well and watched over at home, I assure you.”</p><p>   Well and watched over, for sure. He could fucking strangle the little thing if she wouldn’t giggle while he did it. She’d think it was a game. Just like stabbing, or flaying, or the screams of the food-shaped prisoners in their dungeons. The child had no concept of life and death, even her own. All she understood about her condition, existential or otherwise, was her own supremacy and hunger.</p><p>   It was time for… <b> <em>the talk</em></b>.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <strong>••¤  🦇 ¤••</strong>
</p><p>   <strong>The dress didn’t fit over the doll’s head, though Lirella put all her strength into pulling on it anyway.</strong> The porcelain cracked and ached, but she never believed for a second it would actually crumble. She <em> would </em> get the stupid dress off somehow. The doll was the only one with a nightgown and it had been demoted from sharing her bed in favor of a newer one. And you couldn’t go to bed without a nightgown. So the worn, ugly old thing would relinquish its gown or else. </p><p>   Pressing down on the head to anchor it, she yanked again. The fabric of the collar just wouldn’t stretch any further to pass over the head. Struggling, fighting more, Lirella shrieked with condemnation for the thing.</p><p>   She bashed the doll’s face into the ground. The crackle it made, the crunch, it was like breaking the spine of a rat. And as she imagined the rodent paralyzed, agony its only reality, she licked her lips. Her doll was just the same now; her victim, her tangible display of dominion. Its face was halved: one side staring blankly back at her, the other a splintered whole. Pieces of its once beloved face now rattled within the cavity as she shook it around. Delighted.</p><p>   Her fingers grappled the chipped porcelain of the doll’s wound, and she tugged at that too. No heartbeat rippled through her, and there was no scent of blood, and yet the idea that there could be a candied brain inside the doll made her rip its face open wider. Faster. An animal clawing at broken bone for a scrap of something. </p><p>   The edges nicked at her palms, forcing a squeak out of her voice. Her palms shook from the sting of open flesh. Blood, however, did not come racing out of her as she knew wounds to do. She’d seen papa slice open a tummy, and other spawns peel blades along a vein to get her their sweet juice before her teeth grew in. And there was always, always blood. It poured out of them like the waterfalls she couldn’t touch.</p><p>   Blood did not surge from <em> her </em> hands, though. When it finally peeked through her wound, it trudged slow and muddied like cold honey. And it stunk. <em> Bad </em>. Acrid and sour. Nothing like the sweet syrup of her victims.</p><p>   Beneath her own scent of undeath, there was the faintest aroma of those she had drunk; Arwin at the docks, the baby in the unattended pram, Genevieve at the park, the milliner and her son. The remains of their lives still lingered inside her, congealed in a hidden undertone of pleasantry and warmth…</p><p>   “Lirella Jane!”  Astarion’s voice reverberated through the halls. </p><p>   She flung the dissected doll into the anonymous pile of other toys and dashed for the bed. The sky beyond her window was still dark, but it would glow a soft blue soon enough. Papa didn’t like noisy, crying children interrupting his nights of passion… whatever that meant. But it was important enough that Lirella was sent to her room as early as possible, and it was well passed that.</p><p>
  <em> Did he hear her slam the doll? Her scream? How angry was he? </em>
</p><p>   She was about to encase herself in the covers when her hand found no doll at her side. No way could she sleep without one! She’d never done so before. Her father’s footsteps were quick, growing louder. Maybe she could be quicker. Grab her new doll, then leap for the bed― or better yet, turn into mist. She did that sometimes in her sleep, maybe he’d think― </p><p>   “Still awake, my busy little bee? Good.”</p><p>   Astarion stood in her doorway, his grimace unknowable. Sometimes his anger was vibrant. His body jerked, his voice would turn to smoky gravel, and he’d bear his fangs. Other times, his anger was a murmur under his skin. An aura more emanated than seen. And you’d never know the full wickedness working behind those red eyes. Not for days, or weeks, but only when he designed it.</p><p>   “Good…?” Lirella offered a noise.</p><p>   One step inside and he scrunched up his nose. His calm displeasure turned a roiling disdain.</p><p>   “The Hells, Lirella! It smells like something died in here.”</p><p>   “N-No. Not died.” she said. </p><p>   “Oh, please. I’d know the scent of rotting corpse anywhere. Don’t lie to me, dear, you’re not as good at it as I am..”</p><p>   The child hooked one foot around the other, “I swear! I… I don’t smell anything.”</p><p>   “You swear, hm?” he strode about her room, skimming the pile of stuffed animals and dolls. The scent of decay was like a smog he could almost taste. It may have only been a few days old, not so far as to be a permanent stain, but there’d be skinslip hidden among her toys. Fats would have turned to slop alongside her beautiful things.</p><p>   Lirella couldn’t meet his eyes when he stopped before her. If blood rushed through her veins, it’d have been racing to her cheeks. </p><p>   “Um… I’ll go to bed now. I’ll be good.” she said, reaching for her bedpost.</p><p>   Astarion grabbed her and tossed her into her mountain of pillows, quickly capturing her with a blanket. She squirmed about, half laughing, half screaming. </p><p>   “You absolutely promise me there’s no corpse in your room?” he snatched and poked at Lirella’s shape beneath the blanket.</p><p>   “No! No!” she hollered.</p><p>   “No corpse? Or no you don’t promise because you know it’s a Gods-damned lie.”</p><p>   “No, no.”</p><p>   With several strained grunts and wiggles, Lirella’s head popped out of her soft prison. Her long white hair was now a mess of wispy strands and clumps that couldn’t decide on a direction. The pouted scowl she forced onto her face would have barely frightened a baby.</p><p>   Astarion sat at the edge of her bed, victorious somehow. He leaned back against the pillows, his mood nearly improved, when he was struck by an uncharacteristic lump in his back. A brittle crunch rattled from beneath him as he tried to adjust. But no. The more he moved, the more the awkward the lump had become. The more slimy little noises it made.</p><p>   He rolled his eyes and reached into the pillow casing. His hand knew precisely what it had grabbed for he had held these things in his own begrudging gasp for nearly two centuries. The weight, the feel of dead rat in his hand was still more familiar to him than he would have liked. </p><p>   “You absolutely, solemnly swear?” he bit each word out of his mouth, eyeing the dead rat with all the old memories of nights half-starved, degraded, and toyed with. Him, in all his new power, in his own grand estate filled with pretty people and pretty things, and blood of nobles served in bejeweled chalices… he couldn’t stand the sight of the exsanguinated rat. It’s very existence an insult to the man he had become.</p><p>   “I was hungry.” said Lirella.</p><p>   He smashed the little corpse in his grip, its bones snapping. “We don’t eat this <em> filth </em>! Seven Hells. You would lower yourself to this? Haven’t you any standards, Lirella?”</p><p>   “I just wanted a snack…”</p><p>   “Really? After the dozens you’ve drunk dry in a week alone, you still needed a snack…?”</p><p>   She watched her feet sway under the blanket. Perhaps if she laid quiet enough, didn’t look back into his eyes, this whole moment would just disappear. She let her limbs begin to mystify, her hair becoming coils of condensation. She could slip away, unscathed…</p><p>   “You little― Don’t you even dare. Turning into mist won’t get you out of this.”</p><p>   “I’m sorry.” she said, allowing herself to solidify again.</p><p>   Lips pursed, he inspected the broken rat. A day old, skin like flimsy paper mache, and not a drop of blood left in its whole body. </p><p>   “Any others I should know about?”</p><p>   “Um…” Lirella’s crimson eyes fell one way, then another. She could feel his gaze pushing harder against her as she sunk further into shame. At last, she nodded her head, signaling toward a mound of stuffed animals beside her window nook. </p><p>   Somehow, Astarion was sure of what he’d find before even slipping off the bed. The smell was too pungent for a rat or two. With the tip of his shoe, he kicked away well-dressed tigers, and cotton bears larger than Lirella herself. And a face, doll-like and sweet, peered out from within the pile. But this was no doll. This was the dark skin, the heart-shaped face, and blood-stained satin dress of the missing Eomane girl.</p><p>   He looked back at the little murderer, pulling the covers up to her nose.</p><p>   “I… I didn’t mean to.” she said. “All I wanted was her doll. It was all the way from Halruua. I don’t know. I just wanted it and she wouldn’t let me have it. So I thought… I thought maybe I could make her like you do Taran and the others. B-But once I tasted her, I couldn’t stop. She was so warm in my belly…”</p><p>   On one hand, Lirella was a true vampire. A fierce, fierce hunter. She could not help but be born onto her velvet-cushioned place on the food chain. Less than half their size, she was more formidable than half the cityguard. And he too knew the hunger. The lure of blood, yes, but importantly… the power. Anywhere there was opportunity to wield it, to let the world know he was not to be stepped on… he would bathe in it. </p><p>   And the child had worshipped him. Adored him. She’d been the bait for the several schemes to lure unsuspecting heroes into his teeth, and she’d learned from his every kill. He helped make this.</p><p>   On the other, …. It was over a doll. A stupid, pathetic doll. As if the brat didn’t have a dozen others bestrewn around the room, equally as useless. And she killed with no thought of the consequence, the people who were out looking for the dead girl beneath the stuffed animals, or the hunters searching for whoever left the bite marks on the baby....</p><p>   <em>Because of a doll…?</em></p><p>   “How many others?” he said, his eyes focused on the fragile corpse.</p><p>    “A few?”</p><p>    “You promise?”</p><p>    “A lot.” she pouted. “Two or three babies, I don’t remember. I just got hungry and well… no one was watching them. And then there was the fisher’s boy, Arwen. He wanted to push me into the river when I said I couldn’t swim. He… well I… and Genevieve. That stupid cow! I followed her to her treehouse that she said I couldn’t join and I did what you did, Papa. I plunged her gut with scissors because… well, I didn’t have a knife like you. And the dollmaker and the hat lady and the shaved iced man…”</p><p>   Astarion looked about the room. Yes, the spawns spoiled her. Even he did at times in exchange for her absence. But never to the extent that her room ought to have been this cluttered. There were hats too large for her head hung over doorknobs and chairs, dresses tossed across the floor with unfinished hems. Dreidels, puppets, pretty pearl necklaces… even the rouge lipsticks of streetwomen all decorated the vampire-ling’s floor. Things he knew had been given to her.</p><p>   “Do you have any idea what you’ve brought?” he said behind grit teeth. “Lirella, you… you can’t do this anymore. Not without my say so.”</p><p>   “B-But… but why? They’re supposed to listen to me! They’re just blabbering foods!”</p><p>   He came to her bedside with a heavy sigh and sat for a long while in silence. The softness with which people often spoke to children was too foreign in his mouth. It had never been tested, and he’d never dreamed he’d have to use it. The most experience he had with simplifying words in a… sort-of gentle tone was way back with Tav. And that… well, he would’ve rather not thought on it.</p><p>   “You know what we are, don’t you?”</p><p>   “Vampires?”</p><p>   “Yes. But do you know what that actually means? What separates us from… what did you call them? Blabbering foods?”</p><p>   She thought about it a little harder, unsure she knew what he wanted to hear.</p><p>   “To them, my dear… we are monsters. Unnatural. There’s life and death, as you know, and we… we’re somewhere in between. Which most think is wrong for one reason or another. As if our very existence is an affront to all things good and pure. And why shouldn’t they think so? In order to remain this in-between, we drink of their life, feed on their loved ones so that we may survive. Wouldn’t you be afraid of things that could eat you too?”</p><p>   “Like a dragon?”</p><p>   “Yes. Like a dragon. But… scarier, I should think.”</p><p>   “You’re crazy.” she laughed. “Nothing is scarier than a dragon.”</p><p>   “Just you wait until you see the world, my pet. Just you wait. But what I mean is that when a dragon comes to eat you, you’d know it. You’d be in the shadow of its great, big wings. You’d smell the fire. Hear it a city away. With us, however, it’s much less obvious. We look so much like the living, hide among them in plain site. And people don’t like that, love. At least with a dragon they know what they’re up against. </p><p>   But with vampires? The fear they feel is long and drawn-out, makes them paranoid to think of someone who looks just like them― maybe not<em> just </em> like them, Heaven forbid― lurking among them. Picking them off one by one, by one. And they <em> hate </em> us for it.”</p><p>   The child’s doe eyes searched Astarion's face for levity as was so often found in the lines of his face, the tiniest upturn of his lips. </p><p>   “You’d hate it too if a dragon snatched up one of our family, wouldn’t you?”</p><p>   She nodded, snuggling her body closer to him. While Papa was of course her favorite, her family was as much a home as it was chaos. Taran, Sylowen, Iriletha, Lyle, everyone of the spawns was a father, a mother, brother, and sister to her. Even if some of their smiles were only there because Papa had commanded them to be halfway nice to her.</p><p>   “And so you see… the Eomane girl, the shopkeeps, the boy at the docks… you can imagine how angry their families might be. Normally I wouldn’t care, but now there’s bloody vampire hunters out here looking for us.”</p><p>   “Vampire… hunters? B-But… I was just hungry. That’s all.”</p><p>   “Like I said, they hate us. They think we shouldn’t exist in their world. And while we’re not of the living, we can still die. A stake through the heart, a good push into the river, … the sun. There are just so many lovely ways to die, many of which I’m sure these hunters are well-trained in.They won’t care you’re a child. The same size stake that would kill me would kill you. Maybe just a little easier.</p><p>   You’ve killed too many too quickly, Lirella. Worse, you didn’t even hide your mark or lure them to a place where you could feed safely. You could have been caught and…”</p><p>   He looked at her watery eyes. He hadn’t seen that look on her face since she was a baby frightened by a noise, her first flash of lightning. Not that he remembered much about that time. Babies were the worst and he avoided the thing when he could. But sometimes… sometimes he caught the look of her. So small and pathetic. </p><p>   “And, well, you weren’t caught. So there’s that. But for now I think it’s best you remain inside for a while. Until all this vampire-hysteria dies down. Hm?”</p><p>   “I’m sorry, Papa.” she said, squeezing on his arm with almost her whole body.</p><p>   “You didn’t know. Now you do.”</p><p>   Unlatching himself from her grip, he stood to blow out the candle at her bedside. On the floor was the doll Lirella had been reaching for when he’d burst in. Halruuan fashion, like she said. The dead girl’s doll. He picked it up, examining the blood stain on its arm, the tangle of its hair. All Lirella wanted was the doll, which was enough to justify the taking of a young and innocent life. </p><p>  He sat the doll next to her and she hugged it tight to her cold body.</p><p>  “Don’t be afraid to take what you want, but just do it in a way where you don’t leave a trail of clues leading back to you. Understand?”</p><p>   She nodded.</p><p>   “Good morning, little love.”</p><p>   “Good morning, Papa.”</p><p>   He smiled and closed the door behind him. </p><p>   The house was quiet as daylight approached. His spawns no doubt headed for the crypt or their rooms. None of them had been watching Lirella enough if she’d killed so many outside their walls. Perhaps it was time to assign one of them to nanny-duty, one he liked the least, or perhaps whoever annoyed him first. But no matter. He’d have one of them retrieve the Eomane corpse from Lirella’s room before daybreak, bring it to the crypt. Best to let the thing rot until it was unrecognizable where no one would find it. No way he could chance one of the spawns getting caught dumping a body or someone coming across a shallow grave. Especially while these vampire hunters hung around.</p><p>   Still, it amused him for a moment. A troupe of hardy, trained monster hunters; clerics righteous with divine fury, muscle-lined fighters with bandoliers of stakes, rangers and scouts and alchemists specialized in the forensics of the undead… </p><p>   All of them came for a Gods-damned child who killed… for a doll.</p><p>   His laugh was bubbly and joyous as it echoed down the halls.</p><p>
  <strong>••¤  🦇 ¤••</strong>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for clicking on this chapter. Forgive me my often times purple-prose, but this is an indulgent fic for my sadly retired D&amp;D character and the idol of simpness, Astarion. So... I'm allowed to write inulgently? Whatever. Adverbs for the win. Hope you enjoyed! Please don't be afraid to let me know what you think. Good, bad, the very of idea of me and this fic makes you want to murder me? Just leave a comment :) </p><p> </p><p>••¤  ⚰️ ¤••••¤  ⚰️ ¤••••¤  ⚰️ ¤••</p><p> </p><p>Taking ideas for future chapters! Have any cute Papastarion scenarios? Let me know here or on Tumblr (link in my bio.) Also, want your Tav to featured? Can and will do that too. This is a collection of oneshots, so honestly, if you want multiple Tavs to be husband/wife/spawn/all the above, shall do. Just think of it as multiple playthroughs. :)</p><p>Anyway, thank you and hope you enjoyed!</p><p>••¤  ⚰️ ¤••Ahron••¤  ⚰️ ¤••</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Lure</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hungry and away from his, shall we say, more palatable hunting grounds... Astarion devises a fun new plan to lure innocent victims to his teeth by using... well... more innocence. A+ parenting.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <strong> ••¤  🦇 ¤•• </strong>
</p><p> </p><p><strong> <br/>     𝓐 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖑𝖞 𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖙 </strong>would dump their five year-old on a bench in the middle of the night to be at the mercy of strangers and walk away forever. Not Astarion, though. No. He would dump his five year-old on a bench in the middle of the night to be at the mercy of strangers and at least watch from the shadows.</p><p>     Not that he didn’t think about leaving Lirella there; forever free of ear-piercing cries and the constant inanities she plagued him with. <em>Why is the sky blue, papa? How big is 3,000 years? How heavy is a moth? Why can’t I eat copper coins? What does ‘vexing’ mean?</em></p><p>     A few steps more, a sharp turn down another alleyway, and he could abandon the little beast. And sure, the townsfolk would eventually find the child vampire and burn her at the stake, but he wouldn’t be able to hear the screams if he was all the way home.</p><p>     But the hunger in him demanded to be satisfied. He needed a victim. Now. Just something to tie him over ‘til he got back to his own hunting grounds in the city. And innocence, he knew, made for the perfect lure.</p><p>     The child did have her uses, he supposed. No point in tossing away a good tool.</p><p>     Boredom made her jump on the bench, sing, and then poke a spider around the lamppost for ten minutes. A few pedestrians glanced her over, preoccupied with their own arms full of packages or brood of children eager to be home. Or... halflings?  Astarion couldn’t tell. Either way, he was thankful none of them stopped to help Lirella. Nothing was worse than when a mother of five came to his lair under this ruse and he had to either turn away a whole feast or kill them all. Messy work, that was, even with several spawns to clean up the leftovers. And halflings? <em>Ugh.</em> If he <em>had</em> to, yes, but he’d much rather not stoop to that level.</p><p>     The night was a chilled one. Not that he could <em>tell</em>, just assumed, rather, by the cloaks and shawls people pulled closer around them. Raindrops began to speckle the cobblestone paths. A few soft droplets, and then more, heavier, louder ones. Such an unpleasant night to be a child left alone out of doors.</p><p>     He saw the exact moment Lirella realized something was wrong. That he had been gone too long. He saw the little upturn of her nose. Her pout. Red eyes searching every stranger on the street for her papa’s face. She tentatively slid off the bench, hands wringing a clump of her dress. Her damp hair whipped around as she glanced to both ends of the street. People hurried into taverns, dirt turned to mud. The lamplight flickered in the breeze. Papa had definitely been gone too long. And she couldn’t remember which store he had gone in, just that he’d asked her to wait on the bench like a good girl. </p><p>     And she <em>was </em>a good girl. She was. She couldn’t leave the bench. What if he came back and she wasn’t there? She didn’t know the way home. </p><p>     “Papa?” she called. </p><p>     He watched her squirm with uncertainty. Soon― <em>soon</em>― some poor soul would see this terrible scene. Soon they’d help her. Soon they’d walk to some anonymous alley and be caught in his teeth. The hunger within was too fervid to leave room for guilt. </p><p>     Lirella called out a few times, her voice so small and so shaken. When the rain replied with only heavier drops, she knew she was alone in the world. Forgotten. _ watched the realization hit her, the weight of it slumped on her shoulders, how it brought her to her knees. </p><p>     She cried. Not like one of her tantrums or getting her favorite toy dirty. But a long, high-pitched wail; first a noise that barely squeezed out of her, and then a serrated wave she couldn’t hold back if she tried. Disconsolate, agonizing sobs shook through her. These cries were in her gut. Her chest, scratching up her throat. Her whole, tiny being. Eating her. Through trembling breaths she begged for Papa as though this chant would summon him. </p><p>     Astarion's jaw twitched. For a moment… just a moment… there was a weight in his chest, as hollow as it was heavy, piercing him like a red-hot stake. His arms yearned to scoop up the child and make sure she never made that terrible noise again. The sensation frightened him enough that he couldn’t maintain his misty form and appeared again in the physical. </p><p>     Whatever that was, he had no living memory for reference. No way to reconcile such a physical response but with disgust. Denial that his beautiful vampiric self could have felt alive in such a way. He was a powerful, albeit new, vampire lord. If he had the tiniest bit of weakness, anything that would have made him less than the other vampires, than anyone...</p><p>     No. He could question morality after he fed. <em>If</em> he could be bothered to question it later. Bloodlust returned to all its familiar places within him like an aching, sweet serenity. It gave him focus, a reason to hunt, but only until it became unbearable. </p><p>     He was pulled from his thoughts by feared growls. A man had begun to walk toward Lirella. His dog, however, was not so willing. It was a decent sized canine, grey of fur, and every bit of muscle begging his master not to approach the weeping child. Fed up, the man leashed the dog to a signpost and ran to the bench.</p><p>     Astarion gathered the darkness around himself so as not to be seen. With more ease than most, he leapt onto the roof of an overlooking shop where he stayed perfectly invisible. </p><p>     “Hello? Little girl?” said the man. His dog whined behind him. Frantic, it struggled against its leash.</p><p>     “What are you doing out here by yourself? By the Gods, you must be freezing.” he touched a hand to Lirella’s shoulder, and yes, the child was cold as ice. Shivering with cries.</p><p>     The dog’s yowls pierced the rain, dared to bring the whole neighborhood out. It thrashed about the signpost, gnawed at the rope, anything to be near its master.</p><p>     “Hey! Dig! Pipe down!” he sat beside the girl, both of them drenched. One of them with clouds of cold breath seeping from their exhale. “Don’t you mind the dog. He’s just a bit jittery in the rain. But come now. You alright, little one? What’re you doing out here all on your own?”</p><p>     “H-Have you seen my papa?” Lirella lifted her head from her palms and a jolt ran down the man’s spine. <em>Red eyes</em>. Deep red eyes. Skin starched white. Sleepless purple hues hung from her eyes.</p><p>     “The Hells―!”</p><p>     The dog snarled and barked. Its teeth bared, every muscle taut.</p><p>     Whatever this child had been through, the gentleman wasn’t so sure he could help anymore. She looked lost in more ways than one, as if leaving her to the streets <em>was</em> the merciful thing to do.</p><p>     “You… you alright?” he said.</p><p>      Lirella shook her head. “My Papa. H-He… I don’t know where Papa is.”</p><p>     “Well did you see him go into any of the shops or taverns? Did he say he would come back?”</p><p>     The man knew this area’s brothels and smokedens forbade children from entering. It wasn’t terribly uncommon that a parent would lose themselves in one of them while their child sat unguarded. A sad thing to see, but nothing he could do about it but keep an eye out for them.</p><p>     “I don’t know.” Lirella wailed through sobs and rain. “I don’t know, I don’t know. I want Papa!”</p><p>     “Alright, alright,” he said, “Well don’t cry. I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. C’mon. Let’s get you out of the rain at least, ok? And I’ll help you find your pa. I promise.”</p><p>     As soon as the man reached to pick her up, he heard the crinkle of paper. From the pocket of her dress bulged a wadded ball of parchment. Probably damp, but hopefully helpful.</p><p>     Lirella threw herself into his arms. Her hands clutched onto his soggy tunic as though he could still her world for even a moment. The warmth that emanated from him was almost startling. She’d known no such feeling but for a fresh victim’s blood when it coated her throat.</p><p>     He carried her beneath the roofing of a bakery. Whatever sweet smells may have wafted from its windows were now washed away beneath drenched earth and the electricity in the air. The man unfolded a small quilt from his pack and bedroll and toweled her down best he could.</p><p>     “There now.” he smiled. “You’re going to be just fine. Now what’s that you’ve got in your pocket there, miss?”</p><p>     Lirella furrowed her brow as she unballed the paper. The ink of big, unknown words bled only a tad. But it didn’t matter to the five year old who at home would be scribbling only three to four letter words.</p><p>     “These words are too big.” she said, shoving the note near his face.</p><p>     “Well, I’ll be. This is a paystamp for the tavern down the street a ways. Maybe he’s still there. And if he’s not, maybe someone’s seen him. Let’s go find out, shall we?”</p><p>     Dig the dog growled as his master untied the leash. Its hazel eyes focused on Lirella, thrashing with all its might, teeth bared. He bolted for the child soon as he felt the slack of his leash.</p><p>     The gentleman pulled him back hard. “Whoa, Dig. Hey! Calm down. What’s the matter with you?” He calmed the canine with reassuring pats and scratches, unaware of the fanged smile that grew on Lirella’s face. The way she licked her lips.</p><p>     “Sorry about that. He’s usually pretty friendly. Don’t know what’s gotten into him. But c’mon now. It’d be best for us all if we got to a nice warm tavern, don’t you think? And hopefully your pa will be there waiting for us.”</p><p>     She took the man’s hand in hers, a skip in her step.</p><p>     “Now, how ‘bout you tell me about your pa so I can ask the nice people at the inn if they’ve seen him. Can you tell me his name?” </p><p>     “Papa.” she said.</p><p>     He tried to keep the frown from his face, forcing a hopeful tone into his words; “Ok. Well what about what he looks like? Or when you last saw’im? You go into the tavern with him at all?”</p><p>     “I don’t know. But Papa is the most prettiest man there is. He’s tall, but not super tall. A-And has red eyes. And white fluffy hair like a kitty tail.”</p><p>     “Is he an elf? Human?”</p><p>     “Elf. I think.”</p><p>     “You… think?” he shook his head. “Well, does he have ears like you or no?”</p><p><em>     Ears like hers</em>? What did that mean? Were her ears the same? Lirella felt for them, tiny fingers tracing their length, their pointed, cold tips. Without ever seeing her own face, she could only guess.</p><p>     “Y-Yes…? I don’t know.” she stomped her foot. “Papa said to wait for him on the bench. He said he’d come back. I… I’ll get the smacks if I’m not there. He’ll be very angry and Papa is scary when he’s angry.”</p><p>     “When’d you last seen him, love?”</p><p>     “I don’t know! He told me to wait and I did.”</p><p>     They strolled past darkened shops and stalls. A few candles flickered from the small apartments above as the only proof of life in the town, though hardly enough light to see by. Even the street lanterns had been mostly blown out by the winds. Weather like this had made the man’s hometown seem abandoned. Somehow more squalid and broken than he’d known it to be. </p><p>      Near the end of the cobblestone road was the only true source of light. A beacon in the dark. Life, as always, thrived in taverns no matter the weather. Shadows pranced along the ground in the flickering light that fell from tavern windows. A slight storm was just another reason to drink and dance.</p><p>     “That’s the tavern the paystamp’s from. Think you recognize it at all?” asked the gentleman.</p><p>     “I think so.” she said. “We went lots of places. But we might have been here. I think it smelled like tinkle.”</p><p>     “Hah. Then this is probably it.”</p><p>     Dig’s whimpers were like a long, discordant ballad. Desperation ached through every mewl. He refused to take a single step more, though his master pulled and pulled.</p><p>     “Hey, c’mon, Dig. No more games. Let’s go.”</p><p>     He dug his nails into the mud.</p><p>     “Dig! Let’s go!”</p><p>     The man fought with the leash. One good deed was all he was trying to do. One good deed. And for that he was soaked to the bone, his feet muddied and cold, and his sweet, obliging companion turned feral rebel in a matter of minutes. He knew the little girl needed his composure that she could keep even a small amount of hope. It’d do no one any good if he let out his frustrations or allowed a setback to ruin his heroism.</p><p>     As he knelt down to soothe the dog, though, a voice called from the darkness. Smooth, and just loud enough that it seemed to quiet the rain.</p><p>     “Lirella. Lirella, darling.”</p><p>     The child’s body stiffened as the dog’s cries died out. Defeated. It knew, just as Lirella knew— <em>felt— </em>that<em> he </em>was near.</p><p>     “Papa?” her voice was but a whisper.</p><p>     Echoing, it came again. Her name in that wonderful voice. That wonderful, familiar, exquisite voice. </p><p>     “Papa.” she yelled. “Papa, papa. That’s my papa!”</p><p>      Her feet moved without thought. Her existence craved but one thing; the owner of that voice. The arms, and the smile, and the eyes, and all the sweet, bloody scents of home that came with it.</p><p>     “Wait―!” the man dashed after her. “Wait! Little girl…. Oh, by the Hells.” </p><p>     Normally, mud made the child pout and whine. Her lips would pucker like it were the foulest thing she’d ever known. But for even the idea of papa, his voice calling out her name, she bounded through puddles, mud clinging to her boots.</p><p>     “Little love.” the sound cooed.</p><p>     Lirella skid around a corner that opened into a narrow path between shops. Above, wooden planks bridged the gap between rooftops, rottted and poorly fastened. They failed to keep the passage dry at all. Darkness swallowed the alleyway. The only light was a dim, flickering lantern on the other end of the passage.</p><p>     “Papa?” she called into the dark.</p><p>     Strong hands grabbed at her shoulders and whipped around. If she had more of a heart to beat the blood through her veins, it’d have been slamming against her lungs.</p><p>     “You can’t run off like that, kid.” the man huffed as he tried to catch his breath. “I don’t want you getting even more lost. You scared the daylight out of me.”</p><p>     “I… but I thought… I heard my Papa.”</p><p>     The man tilted his head back toward the open street. The rain was a harsh and constant blanket over his ears. Distant thunder pounded down on the sky. And wolves… few, but large… singing in the forests beyond city walls…</p><p>     <em>Closer than they should have been</em>.</p><p>     His own dog had run far away from the noises. Damn thing. He’d never seen the pooch so scared before.</p><p>     “I don’t hear anything. You sure you’re alright, miss?”</p><p>     Lirella looked down at the ground. In the puddle was the muddled reflection of the gentlemen, kneeling down before her, comforting hand on an invisible shoulder. This man was not like her. He’d never be able to truly help her. <em>Feed</em> her, maybe. But she was just as lost as her reflection. As though she’d never existed. And without Papa… it may as well have been true. Tears threatened to sting at the back of her eyes again.</p><p>
  <em>     “<strong>There you are! My little darling.” </strong></em>
</p><p>     Her smile was instant.</p><p>     Astarion stood in the middle of the alley as if he just appeared in it by miraculous prayer. Even wet, he was dressed better than anyone of this city had even dreamed of; fine ruffles, a livery collar of silver, bejweled in red, and an elaboratley decorated black fur coat. His silver hair dripped down his face, and yet remained as beautiful as she remembered.</p><p>     Lirella tore from her helper’s grasp, dashing into _ arms with all her tiny might. He smelled of the night. Of icy breezes cloaked beneath flowery cologne the storm could never wash away.</p><p>     “Oh, my sweet thing.” he tightened his arms around her. “I was looking everywhere for you. Are you alright?”</p><p>     “I’m ok.” she said. “I waited and waited on the bench like you told me to. But you didn’t come. I thought you left me.”</p><p>     “Left you? On purpose? No. I could never, darling. Not to you.”</p><p>     He felt her fists grip at his doublet, her cheek press into his shoulder. There was a horrible power in this that nearly ruined his countenance of concerned father. They way she clung to him, needed him, had been so helpless without him… it almost made him laugh. He could lie to her and use her, this silly naïve thing, and this was how she’d always greet him. Running straight into his arms after playing her part in his ruses. It was so simple! He didn’t even have to orchestrate the best stories or ponder the right words. As long as he showered her with petnames and hopes, she was entirely his to mold.</p><p>     And to laugh with. And to hold, and to smile back at him when he felt powerless. And to maybe listen to thoughts he’d never share with anyone else. Well, not that she understood them all, but that wasn’t the point.</p><p>     Moving Lirella to the side, Astarion dawned the look of tender surprise he’d been practicing in the shadows.</p><p>     “Ah! But who is this, love? Did this fine young man help you?”</p><p>     “Mhm. He was going to bring me to the tavern place I was with you before. The one that smells like tinkle.”</p><p>     “Is that so?”</p><p>     He ate up the sight of the soaked man before them. He wasn’t the type Astarion usually sought. Then again, nothing about the situation was his usual these days. Last time he had to sneak through alleys for a meal was well before he was vampire lord. Before Tav and the others knew where he’d wandered those nights in Baldur’s Gate. Not a bother though. There was no saving the man’s jawline, but his eyes were handsome enough to detract from that. Muscles didn’t buldge from his tunic, but Astarion could see the man was no stranger to working long and hard with his hands. Yes, he would do nicely. A good, filling drink that would keep him ‘til he could enjoy the finer tastes of home.</p><p>     “Well, I think the kind gentleman should be rewarded for such altruism, don’t you agree? Come, come, my good sir.”</p><p>     “Oh,” the man waved his hands, “no worries. Really. It wasn’t a bother at all. Just… hate to see a child alone in this weather, is all. Breaks a man’s heart.”</p><p>     “Of course. Heart-wrenching. But, truly, I insist. It’s the least I can do your returning of my precious Lirella. Come, I’ll have my carriage take you home and out of this dreary weather. You’re soaked.”</p><p>     “Sir, I—”</p><p>     “How does 10,000 gold sound? Hm? Not that I could ever put a price on my dear, sweet daughter’s life.”</p><p>     If the man had any protests left they died on his tongue. He wasn’t a schooled man, but no one would be dumb enough to refuse the noble’s offer. 10,000 gold. <em>10,ooo! </em>Hells, he could buy a new dog. A more obedient one. He could fix up the shop. Help his ma. Pay for his son to go to a good school in Baldur’s Gare. Just for attempting to rescue this strange child from the cold, he had an opportunity to better the future. He looked up into the downpour, trying to remember the names of all the benevolent gods, and thanking any and all who had sat this child on his path.</p><p>     “Well, I suppose. Sure. Yeah. That’d be… incredible. Wow. Thank you, sir. So much.”</p><p>     Astarion wrapped an arm around the gentleman, ushering further into the alley. Lirella skipping at their heels.</p><p>     “No, my good man. Thank <em>you</em>. Wealth is no comparison to the ones we love. I learned that the hard way after the wife died. A real tragedy. And ever since, it’s just been me and the child. I don’t know where I’d be without my little girl. She’s become my whole world.”</p><p>     “I can tell she feels the same way toward you.” he said. “Poor thing was just so shaken. Real sorry to hear about your loss, though. My own family had a loss just recently. Hit us real hard.”</p><p>     “Well I’m afraid they’re about to be hit again.”</p><p>     “Sorry, wha<strong>—</strong>”</p><p>     Surprise ate the scream caught in his throat. Strings of wet whispers warbled from his mouth as breath left him. The beautiful noble… his teeth… fangs… piercing his neck. The dagger… his heart. It wanted to beat fast, make his body run, fight… but the blood was leaving it. Stilling it. Numbness… rose through him. Filled his cavity. Breath would not come. All his insides wanted was to quicken, tighten, fight, fight,<em> fight damn it</em>…. but a coldness… it wouldn’t let his legs stand, his fingers flinch. He was dying and all too horribly aware of it. Unprepared for it. His mind still trying to piece it altogether until it couldn’t think a thought outside of the dizziness… the fog… the…</p><p>     Fangs slipped out of flesh as easily as they went in. The man’s legs gave way and he let this helpless meat fall to the ground. Astarion didn’t feel the heart stop in his teeth, but he knew it soon would. There was so little life essence left in him, it would be only moments. But moments _ would enjoy nonethless.</p><p>     Lirella leaned over the gentlemen, her eyes curious and yet unfazed. She watched the life leave the man’s grey-green eyes, the last small tremble of his lips as if he meant to ask her something. Perhaps to ask her <em>why</em>.</p><p>     “You didn’t leave me any.” she said.</p><p>     “Oh, be quiet. You can lick the dagger if it’ll make you happy.” Taking the blade from the corpse’s heart, his skilled hands sliced away at the bite marks left behind. The man would be found stabbed and slashed. Robbed maybe. And surely the blood was washed away in the storm. But a vampire? In their city? The absurdity.</p><p>     Careful of her tongue on the sharp edges, she cleaned the dagger like an ice cream cone once it was handed to her.</p><p>     “Satisfied?”</p><p>     “No.” she said.</p><p>     “Well you have that sweet lady in the basement at home. Now let’s go before anyone sees us.”</p><p>      Lirella hurried to keep with his pace. Whenever she reached for his hand, it seemed to swing out of reach just before she could grab it. They were brisk through the city, keeping mostly to the dark. Astarion would have preferred to turn to mist at this point, just in case, but the child’s misty form would be just as slow as she was in the physical.</p><p>     Just outside city walls, a carriage did in fact wait for them. Uncle Taran, as Lirella endeared him, was the handsome coachman ready to steer off soon as the vampire who sired him gave the word. Whatever the young warlock had done, it put the few guards asleep on the ground. Frozen right where they’d been on patrol. Taran lifted Lirella into the taxi after his master, giving her a playful flick on the nose.</p><p>     “Good to see you again, My Lady.” he smiled before closing the door.</p><p>     They set off onto the dark roads, wolves still howling in the forests that surrounded them. Not one of them feared the ominous songs, for they knew they could be commanded. Summoned and dismissed like everyone else in Master Astarion's life.</p><p>     Lirella’s dress dripped on the plush carpeting. She sat across from Papa, who hadn’t even looked her way since leaving the crime scene. All the tears she had shed that night, all the taut, sinking, wrenching things that swarmed her gut, made her feel alive… were all unanswered by his silent indifference. He’d had his feet up on the seat beside her, blood still staining his cocky lips.</p><p>     “You didn’t really leave me there, did you, Papa?” she squeaked out.</p><p>     At last his crimson eyes saw her. Not with adoration or zest, but at least they were looking her way.</p><p>     “Of course not. No. I’ll always come back for you. It’s just…”</p><p>     He adjusted himself. His tone needed to be lighter, softer. The way he’d seen the druids back in that Godsforsaken grove speak to injured birds. Perhaps, even as a test, he opened his arms to her, offered the a place at his side. And she jumped at the chance, practically leapt from one side of the carriage to the other just be cuddled in his embrace. He surrounded her entirely. Enveloped her in his presence.</p><p>     “Well, you see, darling… all of this was… a test, so to speak. I just wanted to know I could trust you to come back to me. That even if you were alone, you’d do everything you could to find a way back to me. And you did. For that I am so proud of you. And what’s more, you did exactly as I’d hoped and brought that man with you.”</p><p>     “It was all a test? You left me?”</p><p>     “Sure, but it wasn’t as if I’d had any doubts in you. I knew you were the only one I could count on to help me tonight. I was just so very hungry, love. And you brought that man right to me. He didn’t suspect a thing, you did so well. Who else could have done that? Hm? You think Taran could have lured a stranger in the middle of the night with such ease? Clumsy, silly, Taran?”</p><p>     He gave her sides a tickle and she giggled. The idea of the large, lumbering warlock trying to be sneaky was comical to the child. The spawn was pretty and baked good blood-tartes, but he was always tripping over his own giant feet.</p><p>     “No, no. Only you could it. My little love.”</p><p>     “I did good?”</p><p>     “You did very good. I am so proud of you. And you know what else? I think you did so well, in fact, that next time we’ll plan this sort of lure out together. I’ll even let you pick out a meal. And you do just what did tonight and bring them straight to me.”</p><p>     “But next time we share?”</p><p>     “Of course, of course. Next time we share. You have my word.”</p><p>     She nestled into his chest, a smile ever growing.</p><p>     “I’ll be the best helper, Papa! The very best!”</p><p>     He watched the small thing curl into his lap. How her complete love and complete trust eased her shoulders, let her sink into his embrace without question or fear. <em>His little love. </em>His. </p><p>     “I know you will, love. I know you will.”</p><p>
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  <strong>Artwork is a commission by <a href="https://redreart.tumblr.com/">ReDreart</a>.  Please check them out!</strong>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for reading!!!</p><p>1. Did I proofread? Maybe. Did I edit? Possibly. But did I do it over the span of several sleepless nights and some mornings by sheer will and berating myself for being a lazy piece of shit? Yes. Yes, I did. So I hope you enjoyed. </p><p>2. This chapter had a small cameo of an OC named Taran, made by Jayce-macy-chan. So, again, if you're reading, thanks for letting me borrow him.</p><p>3. Now that I am quarantined, yet again, I have more time to devote to this fic. The goal is a chapter a week. Maybe more if I’m feeling spicy. </p><p>4. Still accepting OCs and prompts, so let me in a comment or on tumblr (Jessaryss) if you want me to write in your oc or just wanna see the shenanigans of your desires. </p><p>Thank you again, and see you around!</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ceres // The Years Between</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter stars a wonderful tav by the name of Ceres, who was created and submitted by the lovely Iriris.<br/>♥ Iriris, I hope I did your tav justice. Thank you for letting me use her as my muse. ♥</p><p>\\\</p><p> </p><p>Still accepting tavs and prompts for future chapters. Thank you so much for reading and hope you enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p> </p><p><strong>      𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔰𝔭𝔬𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔞ƙ𝔢𝔯.</strong> Both mothers, with tear stained cheeks and ghosts in their eyes, shuffled into the temple with the lifeless bundle in their arms. Ceres knew their expressions, knew what they would say the moment she set her midnight eyes upon the unmoving swaddle they brought before her. And maybe it was denial, or maybe faith, that kept her stilled, the words locked in her throat. Beyond a scroll of true resurrection— if even that would work on an infant soul— nothing she could say would ever fix this. She couldn’t pray the baby back to life or incant their grief away.</p><p>      Worse still, nothing could have prepared her for when they unwrapped the body from its humble cloths, the head lobbed over to reveal two puncture wounds on its neck.</p><p><em>       Yes </em> , she promised the mothers, yes there <em> would </em> be justice. <em> Yes </em> , <em> she’d find the monster that did this </em>. Rally the monster hunters, prepare stakes and bounties. An hour or so she spent praying with them, offering as many kind words she could. All the while wrestling that unmistakable knowing in her heart. A heavy hollowness that congealed within her entirety.</p><p>
  <em>       Vampires… near Baldur’s Gate. A vampire near Baldur’s Gate killed this baby. It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be…! </em>
</p><p>      Death wasn’t normally found at her temple, as there was no place to bury the babe and she’d have to wait for one of Kelemvor’s clerics or the undertaker to retrieve the little one. But as true faithful to Selune, they entrusted Ceres with this task— with the hope that she’d brighten the dark in which the savage vampire lived, and make them squirm within it.</p><p>      And when the mothers were gone and the temple quiet, Ceres stood alone over the corpse within the temple enclave. The poor, darling thing was so cold and so frail, even as it laid solemnly over a ceremonial slab. She brushed a finger over its brittle hand. It was all bones and angles where it should have been plump and full. <em> Drained dry. </em> Completely, unforgivingly exsanguinated. It may not have even died in surprise or fear; merely just… slipped off to sleep as the killer drank. Numbness consuming all its little limbs until there was nothing…</p><p>      Nothing.</p><p>      She put a hand to her neck as she recalled such a feeling. How quickly the warmth ran from her once. The surreal polarity of her blood racing as her heart slowed. <em> The hands that cradled her then, the vibrations of his voice moaning through her neck as he drank of her beside the firelight </em>…</p><p>      It would not have been a painful way to go, she thought, not if the vampire were as careful as <em> he </em> was.</p><p>      But she had allowed that to happen. She trusted him, and he trusted her. She <em> consented </em>. That’s what mattered. This lifeless baby before her had no choice. It wouldn’t have even realized what was happening. One day it was giggling and smiling, its fresh eyes learning the whole world… and then it was drained of an entire future. Eyes closed forever.</p><p>      It couldn’t have been him. Astarion wouldn’t do this. A baby? Terrible as it was, he wouldn’t find a challenge in it. When he drank of blood, he liked to indulge in them like fine wines, sipping on their lives like a good vintage. He liked the seduction leading up to that first, sharp bite. Or the enemy quivering before him, their fear an aphrodisiac he could taste. He liked power, and especially when people knew he had it. An infant wouldn’t understand, and while she didn’t know much about the taste of blood or how it felt to ingest it, she could assume a baby’s blood just wouldn’t be enough satisfy him. Less he was bloodstarved or compelled, … <em> no </em>. It just wasn’t him. He couldn’t have done this.</p><p>      Still, he might know who did.</p><p>      Ceres peered again at the bite wounds dotting the infant’s throat. Exsanguination made them shriveled, older than they were. But upon further inspection, she noted two or three more indentations of the same size and shape. Definitely attempted bites, but ones that struggled to pierce flesh. Whatever vampire made these was either cruel or completely new to their fangs.</p><p>      And she would catch them. She swore it under her breath. She would destroy the beast that had drank of an innocent child. But she would leave the stakes, bounties, and rallying notices behind. She wouldn’t lead a troupe of vampire hunter in Baldur’s Gate, knowing Astarion was there somewhere, knowing they could find out about her, about <em> them </em>. A Cleric and a vampire, entangled in each other’s arms.</p><p><em> No. </em> This she would handle on her own.</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>••¤  🦇  ¤••</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>     <strong> 𝔈𝔩𝔣𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔗𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔫 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔫𝔬𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔨.</strong> With the sunset came an influx of patrons, and with that the ferrying of drinks, the belts of laughter, the whispers of bountiful quests in the far off world. Adventurers of all sorts walked through its doors, brought in by the promise of gold, glory, faith, or even a destiny unknown to them. Tonight they’d sit around the table, laugh and drink, only to set out the the next day to fulfill some quest greater than they could ever know…</p><p>      Ceres spilled a small laugh into her drink at the thought. It wasn’t all that long ago that she was one of those adventurers; feeling the first hot bath after weeks of travelling, how a simple meal tasted like a revelation after campfire rations and makeshift spices. In the corner of the inn was the same table she once enjoyed a drink with her companions. Gale, Wyll, Lae’zel, Shadowheart…. Astarion. It seemed like their laughter and jabs could have been built into the walls. Her memories walked like ghosts around the tavern like the mysterious voice that once haunted the Elfsong.</p><p>      Sometimes her mind ached as if the tadpole still squirmed within it. Other times, she woke up unsure it was ever truly over. The visitor in her dreams may have been gone, but that didn’t mean sleep came any easier, or that the fear of being caught in an endless illusion wasn’t lurking in the back of her everyday thoughts. Tonight, though, her mind wrestled with another fear. And the nerves dancing around her insides were real as daylight. Tonight, she’d catch herself a vampire and pray it wasn’t the one who’d made love to her all those times ago. Tonight, after everything that’s happened, she’d see Astarion again. Be face to face with that devilish grin, those luring eyes.</p><p>      She downed the last of her drink and set off onto the streets of Baldur’s Gate.</p><p>      It was still early, the sun just barely traipsing the heights of the buildings. But somewhere in the throng of busied bodies and shadows of the city, a vampire stirred. Hungry. Prowling. And Ceres would either find the infant’s killer, or find one that would lead her to their master. Having prayed and prepped her spells to exploit all the weaknesses of the undead, the cleric was less afraid of a fight as she was of the potential of reuniting with Astarion. What he would say, what he would do. <em> If </em> he still cared as much as she did.</p><p>      In truth, she ought to have knocked on the most opulent looking doors with the most gaudy decor in search of him. She doubted he’d make a crypt of his new dwelling as Cazador did. But she couldn’t do that without causing panic or making people paranoid about their maybe less than sociable neighbors. Nor could she bring herself to cast <em> Speak With Dead </em>on the corpses of three and five year-olds in the mausoleums, and doing so on the infants would have just been pointless. So she stuck to the clues she did have. After three days in Baldur’s Gate, gathering as many whispers in as many taverns, and praying rites over as many of the forlorn as she could, she knew the vampire stalked the parks.</p><p>      It was just a matter of when.</p><p>      To her surprise, even at sundown the coastal parks were still quite trafficked. Couples still meandered the lit the pathways, arm in arm. A pack of boys by the seaside passed a bottle among themselves. Further along the scattering of trees and row of stone benches slept the homeless and downtrodden. Easy pickings for a predator of the night should they have been in a hurry. And at the piers, fishermen reeled in the last of the day’s catches, their boats moored off for the night. Vampires, hurricanes, or divine apocalypse; nothing deterred cityfolk from their daily business it seemed.</p><p>      The saltwinds caressed her body, her hand reaching instinctually to where her horns would have been to untangle the pieces that strayed. But she stopped herself when the skin of her arms was not her normal bone-white, but instead a warm tan. <em> Disguise Self </em> kept the worst of the city’s glares off her back, as well as helped her blend in as just a normal human. No fancy garb of Selune, nothing to make her more or less of a target than anyone else. Though she still felt the phantom sway of her tail, the tensing of her muscles.</p><p>      And with a bit of the street smarts she’d learned from the man she hoped to see, Ceres casually strolled the park as if she’d done so her whole life. A member of the community, perhaps, just out to clear her head by the shore. She kept to the darker paths. Maybe a vampire would see her as an easier opportunity, someone to quickly nab without too much attention. She worked out in her head over and over how she’d turn the undead, bind them in place, and perhaps if they still weren’t aware of how outmatched they were, she’d show them her light with more than enough radiant damage.</p><p>      She’d get her answers one way or another.</p><p>      As she trekked along, her eyes roaming only enough to be aware, children yelled as they raced past her legs. The two almost careened into her in their play without any notice or care for her presence.</p><p>      “Are you sure about this? It’s pretty dark.” she heard the small boy whine. He was being pulled along by a girl who was all giggles and pep. Excitement in her every skip.</p><p><em>       Children </em> . Ceres paused. <em> Children… unattended after dark. </em></p><p>      Without drawing more attention to herself, she pretended to adjust her wears as if the kids had jostled her that much. She peered after them, still running along the path easily with her darkvision. The boy tried to pull back away from the girl, just a bit. Maybe he was just teasing her about being scared or superstitious, but it was clear he feared the end of the path.</p><p><em> But the girl </em>…</p><p>      “Don’t be scared. It will be fun.” she laughed.</p><p>      "I don’t know. My mama will be looking for me. It’s dark and dinner’s gonna be ready. I should—”</p><p>      “Come on, come on! It’ll be quick.”</p><p>      She shouldn’t. She shouldn’t blow her cover this early. They were probably just two kids trying to spook one another. Probably dared the other to call out the name of an urban myth in the local haunt. And yet something in her compelled her feet to move. That child, the little girl… with the white hair that tumbled around her frame like billowing clouds… skin sallow… she looked like…</p><p>      With a grin, a last laugh of persuasion, the girl turned her head just enough for Ceres to see…</p><p><em> Red eyes </em>.</p><p>      It couldn’t be… could it? No. She was elven, certainly, so maybe the child had a bit of drow heritage. Lolth’s eyes stained generations. Maybe that was all.</p><p>      But there <em> was </em> a vampire out there who sought the blood of children. That was for certain. She didn’t expect to find them so early. And if they were in this park this very night, the least she could do was get these kids out of here before teeth punctured their throats.</p><p>      Ceres glanced about the area. The sun was settled beyond the horizon now. The number of couples dwindled, the boats at dock all but abandoned for the night. Salted breezes swept over the bank like the perfect, most tender blanket to drown out a potential scream. A quick and helpless plea. The crescent moon above couldn’t offer much light, but Ceres felt empowered by what little gaze of Selune there was. Just as there was still moon in the sky, there was still hope coursing through her.</p><p>      She stepped off the path, flipping up her hood over her face. Still a distance away from the prancing children, she kept low and quiet. Just in case she was wrong. She <em> wanted </em> to be wrong. But just in case.</p><p>      The white-haired child tugged the boy alongside her to where a stippling of gnarled trees sat at the edge of the park. Darkness swallowed the little enclave. It was vacant, enclosed by crumbled old houses on the other side of the trees. Within it rotted an overturned boat, the paint and sails gone, and whatever rubbish blew in from the city streets just beyond the enclosure.</p><p><em> Secluded, cloaked in shadow </em>. And riddled with the decay of the park’s squirrels and birds, their corpses barely visible until a breeze brushed aside the leaves and trash. This was no children’s play area, but a den… a trap.</p><p>      Ceres stifled a gasp. It suddenly made sense. The plethora of untrained bite marks on the infant’s neck, why all the victims had been fragile children, why most of the murders happened in a park…</p><p>      “Just go in.” said the girl. “I promise it’s really, really awesome.”</p><p>      The boy took one look at the overturned boat and shook his head. “N-No way! What if there’s, I don’t know, bugs or something in there?”</p><p>      “Bugs?” she shrieked. “<em> That’s </em> what you’re scared of?”</p><p>      He pulled back, “I’m not scared, I— I just don’t like ‘em. And… and I wanna go home. This isn’t fun anymore. We should head back.”</p><p>      “No, no. C’mon, please. It will be quick. We go in and grab the pirate treasure and then we go home. Back in time for dinner. You said you were a good swashbuckler.”</p><p>      “I am, it’s just—”</p><p>      “Then come on!” she shoved him further down the embankment. “I’ll be with you the whole time.”</p><p>      “The whole time?”</p><p>      An eager smile split her face. “<em> The whole time. </em>”</p><p>      This was wrong. All of it. Suddenly Ceres wished those mothers hadn’t placed that dead child in her arms, that she hadn’t sworn to avenge him. With a spell prepped, and the words readied like matchsticks on her tongue, she braced herself. Her eyes still darted about, hoping, waiting for someone else to be the monster. The real vampire, the one that would lead her to Astarion, would spring from the trees like in those childhood tales, and she’d stop him before he could harm anyone. He’d be the real monster. Not this child. She really, truly fucking hoped she was wrong.</p><p>      But when she saw the little girl behind that boy, saw her mouth open too hungrily, too happily… and the glint of those small fangs in the sliver of moonlight…</p><p>      She took a dagger to her palm, slicing quick and hard so as not to give herself a moment to hesitate. The freshly peeled wound stung a moment, but no more than she was used to. Blood sluiced all over her hand. In thick, sappy streams it barrelled down her arm. Drop, by drop, by drop. Her crimson warmth puddled in the grass.</p><p>      The child froze. <em> She.smelled.it </em>. The wobble in her knees, abrupt but noticeable. The tensing of her shoulder, clenching in the fists. Her mouth hung open, no longer with delight, but merely by pure and raw hunger.</p><p>
  <em> No. No, no, no. Not a child. Not this… no, no. </em>
</p><p>      The girl turned, her glazed red eyes landing exactly on Ceres— the scent, the lure of that sweet, violent essence drooling from her lacerated palm. Whatever thoughts she had of the boy were lost in that intoxicating aroma. <em> Want </em> propelled her tiny feet toward Ceres. <em> Need </em>made her lunge at her, reach for her with fangs in full view.</p><p>      Ceres’ hand swung the spell that bound the child in place. Purple sigils and ghostlike chains ensnared the girl before she got too close. Her voice held the incantation that would end this all— <em> she had to do this, she </em> had <em> to. A child vampire… it was cruel, it was inhumane, it was </em>— and save the boy, protect those babies that couldn’t get away, somehow take away that hurt!</p><p>A dagger at her throat. A freezing grip around her waist. Balance faltering, vision blurred. Her body flung— pulled! slammed!— to the ground. She crashed onto her back with a violence that nearly ripped the breath from her lungs.</p><p>      “Shhh. Not a sound.” a voice snaked into her ear, writhed down her back.</p><p><em> His </em> voice. His. Sweet and quiet and cold, like mist in the moonlight. Like the beautiful crunching of frost in the bitterness of winter.</p><p>      She should have known. She should have been prepared.</p><p>      “Couldn’t kill one your own size so you decide to hunt a child, is that it? Which one of those golden-codpiece choir boys sent you? Evrios, perhaps? Back to settle the score?” he drove the blade nearer her throat as she struggled in his grasp. “Well. You even think about laying a hand on the child again and I’ll bleed you dry before your next breath, so I suggest you choose your next words carefully, my dear.”</p><p>      “N-No. Wait.” Ceres choked out a breath. “It’s not like that. Astarion, it’s me! It’s—”</p><p>      His cold grip around her tightened as he hauled to her feet, shoved her against a tree. Had he always been this strong? Was it different now that he was a vampire lord, with all the night to obey him?</p><p>      “How do you know my name?”</p><p>      “Drop the blade and I’ll explain it all.” she growled.</p><p>      He either didn’t hear or didn’t care. The tip of the blade was teasing at her tendons, daring to plunge in. He wanted to do it. He wanted to see her flesh part and her blood squirt. It’d be easy.</p><p>      But she wouldn’t let that happen. Her fingers twirled as though she were gathering energy, and then the words for a cantrip of light burst out of her. Light like the sun burned at his hands, blinding him a moment. As he staggered back, she relinquished the <em> Disguise Self </em>spell.</p><p>      “Astarion. It’s me, Ceres.”</p><p>      He blinked away the spots in his vision until she was his whole view. Her snowy skin, winter hair, eyes like pools of shadow. Horns, tail, her trying smile that bore all the pain she wouldn’t say. Every feature a memory, every beautiful angle of her person something he’d missed.</p><p>      “I used to shield you from those kinds of spells. Remember?” she said. “Blinded everyone but you while you handled the rest. Worked best in the Underdark against the Duergar.”</p><p>      “After all this time, that’s how you choose to win me back. With fond memories of genocide.”</p><p>      He smiled, but he hadn’t put down the blade. Plot worked through his expression, questioning how much things had changed. If they’d changed.</p><p>      “Release the girl.” he said. Ceres knew how serrated the edge to his tone was.</p><p>      “Astarion, I… she was going to—”</p><p>      “Release her.<em> Now </em>.”</p><p>      Ceres looked from the child to him and back again. A part of her still expected him to laugh about the whole situation, to shrug away the intensity in his posture. He was hardly ever this coiled in her memory. Only when faced with his old master, when reminded of his old chains and shackles and all the things he’d forgotten, did his eyes steel so ardently.</p><p>      The child in her spell of <em> Hold Person </em> was crying. Suddenly she was much less of the monster she’d seen knowingly luring a boy into the dark to feed. To kill. Which, when she searched around, the boy was nowhere to be seen. Instead there were only the whimpers of the little girl. Frightened, weak little sobs hiccuped out of her. And she looked so much like Astarion. Too much like him.</p><p>      “She’s killed, Astarion.” she said, stance hardening.</p><p>      He smiled wickedly. “As have I. As have <em> you </em>.”</p><p>      “This is different. She killed and fed of an infant.”</p><p>      “Oh, come now. Let’s be reasonable, my dear. You’ve always had such an instinct for survival. Surely you can understand—”</p><p>      “An innocent with barely five months of breath in him!”</p><p>      “And? She fed upon the lesser just as she was born to do. She survived. It’s not my fault the baby’s parents neglected to pay proper attention to their child in a public park amidst rumors of vampires. You would fault my child for doing what is natural to her?”</p><p>      “<em> Your </em> child?”</p><p>      “Yes ‘<em> mine </em>.’ Ughh. Don’t give me that look. So I got myself a small protege who worships my every step. Don’t make this a bigger deal than it needs to be and just let the girl go. Afterward we can all be friends, have a drink, perhaps… regale one another with what I’m sure to be riveting stories of what these past few years have had to offer. Hm?”</p><p>      When she didn’t give him the smile she was sure he wanted, his lips turned sour. Displeasure, maybe even sorrow, weighing on the lips she’s once passionately kissed.</p><p>      “Unless, of course…” he glanced at his dagger.</p><p>      Ceres measured her breaths. Behind those scarlet eyes of his, she witnessed the concern. That light, prickling waver of fear no one else would have recognized. Fear, she assumed, for the child he called his own. Did he turn the girl himself? Find her orphaned? Was she… <em> his </em>his? In the end, all that mattered was that he cared for the tiny vampire. He never would have actively fought for, let alone entertained the idea of saving anyone before. Not Mayrina, not the refugees, not any of the poor souls caught in the crossfire of mindflayers and gods.</p><p>      But could she do this? She’d done terrible things for the ones she cared about in the past. To free herself from her parasite, the adventures that ensued… she made choices she never thought she’d have to make. But could she set loose this vampire who unrepentantly took the life of other children? Could she look Astarion in the eye and take away what he held dear?</p><p>      No. No, she’d never forgive herself. <em> He’d </em> never forgive her. He had fought so hard, overcame so much, for just a taste of happiness. And for a while, she had given him that. They’d shared secrets no one ought to know. Once closed and broken, he opened to her. Smiled with her. Let her love him without the clauses or pain. They trusted one another. For better or worse. And she couldn’t betray that trust now.</p><p>      With a heavy sigh, she released her spell.</p><p>      “Papa!” cried the child. Tears falling down her pale cheeks, she ran fast and hard into Astarion’s arms. Muffled words were poured into his doublet; sorrys and pleas and stuttered attempts to explain how she didn’t mean to get caught.</p><p>      He scooped her up into his embrace, lifting her up onto his hip. “Come here, little bat.<em> Shh </em>. It’s alright now. You’re fine.”</p><p>      Ceres watched him peck one kiss after another on her forehead, and she couldn’t tell if it were all for show. Maybe to gain more of her sympathy. <em> We can’t be monsters. Look how we love. Look how much of a family we are </em>. And the more she looked, the more she understood Astarion’s affections. He could get something out of his new paternal role. Yes, an obedient worshipper and someone who, without question, would partake in his chaos. But also a perfect shield against vampire hunters. For who could tear a child from her father? Kill her only mentor, her only love and way of knowing the world? Who would think that humane to a little girl who also had no choice in the matter?</p><p>      But he’d love her too. Their relationship may have begun as a sort of business measure on his end, but just as it did Ceres’ own relationship with the vampire lord, it would grow into real, genuine care. A piece of him to carry all into his immortality.</p><p>      "I’m sorry.” she said. More to the babe, tucked away in some sepulcher somewhere, than to either of them.</p><p>      They both looked her way as if she’d ripped them from the fog of their own world. They could have breathed one another’s presence. The two of them eerily and equally suffocating in their toxic smog of codependency.</p><p>      “Well,” he smirked, his whole demeanor lifted effortlessly, “you made the right choice. So there’s that. Good to know the years haven’t addled your good sense.”</p><p>      “I’m not so sure they haven’t,” she laughed, “but I guess I won’t know that ‘til later.”</p><p>      He eyed her softly. His lips parted only a tad, as though relishing a flavor he couldn’t put a name to. Only that it brought him back to their nights together. He moved like he were about to say something when another figure strode up behind them. A man, more handsome than anyone had the right to be, and gripping the unconscious body of a boy who’d been lured.</p><p>      “Sir,” the man grinned with fangs too small for his mouth scarcely hidden in his smile. A spawn. “This is the boy. Quick fellow, he is. Shall I…?”</p><p>      He never finished the sentence, but Ceres had more than enough of an idea of what he meant. She locked Astarion’s eyes onto her own. Her face serious and non-negotiable.</p><p>      “Astarion. You know I can’t let you kill the boy. Or any child hereafter.”</p><p>      The vampire lord looked gently down at his daughter. In his grasp, she wiggled one of her fangs with her fingers, offering him a look of complete confusion. As if to say there was no way papa would have agreed to that.</p><p>      “You promised me once,” said Ceres. “That there’d be no ‘innocents.’ That’d you be better than… well, that’d you’d be better than <em> him </em>. Feed on blood as you must. I can’t and won’t deny you the very thing you and your child need to survive. But I can’t leave here until I know you’ll keep your word.”</p><p>      “And you’re proposing I leave this boy who has seen our fangs just carry on and live happily-ever-after? He knows now. And <em> you </em>know I can’t let that stand. Oh, no. Not one bit.”</p><p>      “No. I’m proposing that you let me handle it. You’d be surprised by the amount of things I’ve learned since last we met.”</p><p>      “Would I?” he smiled.</p><p>      “Promise me you won’t let any other children die. You will teach her to hunt… <em> other </em>things her fangs are more suited for. But no children”</p><p>      He mulled it over some. His attention shifting from the little one in his arms to his spawn carrying the helpless body of the boy. Ceres’ words hardened over his every thought.</p><p>      “<em> Promise me </em>.” she said again. “I trusted you enough to let your daughter go, with no guarantee of my safety. Now you need to trust me.”</p><p>      Concession made him roll his eyes.</p><p>      “<em> Ugh. </em> Fine. No children.” He pouted a sigh, like a teenager bothered by any minor responsibility. Without a word, the spawn knew exactly to rest the child on the ground. Any thoughts of killing him gone from him.</p><p>      “We’ll just have her, I don’t know, feed on gnomes or halflings or what-have-you for now.”</p><p>      “<em> Astarion </em>—”</p><p>      “What? They’re not children, just the same size as them. Let’s be practical here. You don’t see her climbing up an orc’s back for a bite, do you?”</p><p>      It was about as good of a deal as Ceres was going to get from him. She waved the subject away with her hands. Her concern for now was the small boy laid out on the grass. She’d need to modify his memory. Only a touch. Have him forget he even met the vampire girl or the decrepit boat hidden among the trees where she’d brought him. Pressing her palms to his temple, she weaved at his thoughts, removing any signs of fangs or the shadows of the park.</p><p>      “My, my.” an amused Astarion watched her. “You have learned a thing or two, haven’t you?”</p><p>      He set the child down and urged her toward the spawn. She wasn’t thrilled to leave, not when papa seemed to have a clear interest in the woman who’d ensnared her. But she wouldn’t refuse him and hopped off to hold the spawn’s hand.</p><p>      “What’s her name?” asked Ceres.</p><p>      “Lirella.”</p><p>      She smiled, brushing herself off. The boy would wake soon and want nothing more than to return home. Which from her perusing his thoughts wasn’t so far off.</p><p>      “She’s beautiful.” she said.</p><p>      “That she is.”</p><p>      “You’ll have to tell me how you of all people became a father.”</p><p>      “Oh, Heavens no. ‘Father?’ We don’t use that word. But I suppose it couldn’t hurt to catch you up on things over a drink or two. Of wine, of course.”</p><p>      “Of course.” she laughed.</p><p>
  <em>       My, how he’d missed that sound. </em>
</p><p>      “And maybe afterward, you won’t run off so soon. I nearly forgot what it’s like having someone useful around.”</p><p>      “You mean your pretty boy spawn doesn’t do anything besides clean up your messes?”</p><p>      He smiled at that. “Oh, he <em> has </em> his uses. He’s just more of a homebody, I suppose you could say. Not quite as useful as you.”</p><p>      “Well,” she smirked, “buy me those drinks and we’ll see if you’re still even deserving of my talents.”</p><p>      Delight radiated through him. The night had been more surprising than most with still more to give. He laughed with all the scenarios the night still offered. Offering his arm to the porcelain tiefling he’d entrusted his secrets to, he welcomed her warmth through his ruffles and sleeve. A remembrance of all the times he’d felt it in his embrace fluttered through his undead nerves, enlivening him. And this time… this time he wouldn’t let her go.</p><p>      She took his arm and the two strolled the park. The night was full, the moon but a sliver of light among them. It was an odd sort of peace that settled over her as she watched Lirella, the young murder… the pretty beast she’d set out to destroy, skip around a tree in play. How she teased the spawn as if nothing so out of the ordinary had happened.</p><p>      And, when Ceres thought about her life thus far, she supposed that was true. Extraordinary had been quite ordinary. And she was about to let herself get lost in the obscurity of this cold bliss once more.</p><p>      “So. Papastarion. How did that happen?” she looked up at him, playful black eyes as unsettling as they were divine.</p><p>      He tugged at her tail. “Call me that again and you won’t live to hear the story.”</p><p>      She laughed into the night. Her warmth against his cold. The years between them closed, and her mission turned grey as ash. All because of that smile. That damned, stupid, wonderful smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I couldn't think of an ending for this chapter, so sorry if it just kinds of... stops. lol my brain went dieded. Did they just leave the child unconscious in the park? Probably? But maybe they went back for him? Who knows? </p><p>But anyway. Hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading. Please feel free to berate me in the comments about my -ing words and overuse of adverbs and my rambling fucking sentences. </p><p>Send me your tavs and prompts if you want me to write them into a chapter. These sorts of writing challenges fuel me.</p><p>♥Thank you and 'til next we meet, you lovely fucks, you. ♥</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Who Did This To You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>What is a father to do when someone's hurt his baby?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>ᴄᴡ: ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ᴅᴇᴘɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴄᴇ, ᴛᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇ, ᴀꜱꜱᴀᴜʟᴛ, ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴀɢᴇ (implied)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <strong> <b>••¤  🦇  ¤••</b> </strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>"𝖂𝖍𝖔 𝖉𝖎𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖔 ყ𝖔𝖚?"</strong>
</p><p>      That was all he said when she’d stepped into the foyer; hair plastered to her skin, dress dribbling puddles on the red carpeting. Open burns smoldered on her arms. The flesh of her palms had been peeled and corroded. Lirella could hardly stand— could hardly remember how she’d made the trek home. Her only thoughts were of how she’d begged Astarion to let her go to school. How it would be ok. She was old enough now. No one would know she was a vampire. She wouldn’t harm a single classmate. Not one.</p><p>
  <em>Who did this to you. Give me their names. </em>
</p><p>      Even days later, she could still see their pimpled faces distorted by ripples as they’d held her down. The water blurred into chaos as she kicked and waved. <em>Not right, not right.</em> Bubbles caged up her screams and floated them to the surface. Which had been somewhere… everywhere. No way out. It burned. It cut.</p><p>
  <em>Fredegar Rames. A lord’s son. Snaggletooth. Stupid fucking laugh, stupid fucking boy.</em>
</p><p>      She could still hear the gurgles and waves that slashed at her ears, and the deep bellow of the river eating at her flesh. Hear herself dissolving. Unbecoming. And then their scorn, their orchestra of laughter, when they pulled her out. And under. And out. And under. Again. <em>Again</em>. <em><b>Again</b></em>. Burning in water. Flesh deliquescent. Every moment under she was being undone one scorched particle at a time.</p><p><em>Jos Rames.</em> <em>Taller than her. </em>Too<em> tall. Hands like hooks in her sides. His nails in her skin.</em></p><p>      She’d been weaker than the hands that held her under. <em>She </em>was supposed to be the predator. New, permanent fangs had finally settled into her gums. Her powers came on command now. A bow and a dagger felt right in her hands; cantrips right on her tongue. She was not supposed to be prey! That wasn’t how it went!</p><p>
  <em>Galter Haen. Thought he was being funny. A dirty finger thumbing down her seared thighs. Beneath the water. Unclean, unclean. The grab between her legs. The feel, the thought…</em>
</p><p>      Lirella pulled a velveteen robe tight around herself. None of the regenerative abilities in the world could take away the feeling, <em>the knowing</em>, of what was done to her. O, how the living would envy her skin now. Soft and unmarred. My, my, it must’ve never known a scrape or bruise in all its creation. They would never know how the ghosts of wounds haunted her from beneath her flesh. Now, if she merely thought hard enough, she could almost make the lacerations reappear. Feel them scorching bone all over again.</p><p>      She stared at the dress she’d worn that day. Draped over the chair; lifeless, a skinned figure of a girl who would never be again. Its bows sagged, crinkled and forlorn. There was a tear in the shoulder, though she couldn’t remember when or how that happened. Maybe when the boys grabbed her from behind. Maybe when Fredegar tossed her in a little too close to the dock, the splinters, the nails…</p><p>      She would never wear the damn thing again.</p><p>      Hunger nagged at her enough to push herself off the bed. It had been a while since she last fed. Too long, in fact. But at least bloodlust and all its addling symptoms kept her mind away from that horrible evening. Her teeth would ache and her mind would dizzy, her thoughts only of blood and how to get it inside her. Bloodstarving herself into disorientation wasn’t her initial plan, but it worked. All she meant to do was hide from the gazes of the spawns that wandered the downstairs, even if it meant skipping a few meals.</p><p>      They looked at her like an injured animal instead of the undead huntress she knew herself to be. Every glance made her small and insignificant. And in the unspoken hierarchy of their vampiric household, a victim was the last thing anyone wanted to be. If Papa were around, Lirella would demand he order them to cut their lips off so they’d never give her another condoling pout or sympathetic smile. She’d pluck their eyes out herself if father didn’t dote on them so. She didn’t want them to look at her. <em>Not the poor, traumatized baby</em>. <em>She thought she could do it. She thought she was ready for the world…</em></p><p>      She fought back the tears in her eyes as she crept down the stairs. <em>Please, </em>please<em> let no one be awake yet</em>. If she weren’t so weak and hungry, she’d turn to mist and be on her way. Yet nothing about her body felt right anymore.</p><p>      A lazy grey sunset scarcely pierced the ornamental windows of the downstairs hall. In their gaze, she’d find no reflection, but rather the breadth of Baldur’s Gate laid out beyond the manor walls. The walls that parted the upper city from the lower were their own horizon, and beyond that loomed the black swath of the Chionthar. A plethora of docks vined out into its waters…</p><p>      Somewhere out there was where she’d been pulled under. Overpowered. Though she couldn’t even see into the lower city, she knew the scene of her assault was out there by the river. It seemed a world away and still too close to her front door. Normally she’d liked to hunt there. Plenty of drunken souls came and went by the docks after a hard day’s work, and the open parks made unattended children want to run free. She hadn’t been down there in days now. Afraid to see the spot where she learned the meaning of fear.</p><p>      Now she tiptoed along the floors of her own home, afraid of even a look her way or chancing a simple walk into the basement where fresh victims hung.</p><p>      Rain babbled at the glass. Wind whispered through some unseen crack in the house. Clouds beat back the sun enough that when she stepped barefoot into the light splayed across the parlor floor, there wasn’t so much as a tickle. With no one to reprimand her, Lirella made her way to the set of cherrywood cabinets where only the best bottles were kept. The blood of nobles and sweet, sweet confectioners corked and mixed with wines from places she’d only read of. Papa really only used them for special occasions; the welcoming of a new spawn into their family, an enemy he particularly loathed felt the steel of his blade, and some years they were brought out for her birthday.</p><p>      But this was a special occasion too. A time she didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to feel. And she’d drink a whole bottle— <em>two, if need be. Three!</em>— on her own to forget the waves, the burns, the faces. All of it.</p><p>      She snuck two from the cabinet, easing the doors closed as if one muffle too loud would wake the entire house. Her hunger pounded through her. Teeth, jaw, and throat, all pulled and quivered. The muscles stretched like a tear. The glass of the bottle was another enemy in the way of relief, a useless barrier when all she wanted was the crimson essence inside of her. But she had to hold on to the yearning a bit longer. She cradled the bottle beneath her arm and slipped off toward the staircase again.</p><p>      Further down the main hallway, a door shuddered. That deep thud, the plunking metal of the latch, it had to be the hidden trap-door in the cellar. The reverberation was unmistakable. Someone had been feeding. Footsteps hurried up the stairs that lead to the main floor. Surprised and swaying with hunger, Lirella sprinted across the hall.</p><p>      The cellar door burst open with a thunder, the chandelier above the foyer jingling in shock.</p><p>      “Ah! Lirella. There you are, my sweet.” her father marched down the hall. Arms outstretched, a smile like none she’d ever known near ripping his beautiful face in two. Blood decorated his doublet. A long spray of it was slashed across his chest, fresh and drooling into the white of his shirt. It pattered along his face, speckled his soft white hair. Blood on his hands, his sleeves dyed; blood on his shoes, footprints painting the floor. All of it fresh and warm and… almost singing with life, as if it were still being pumped through a heart.</p><p>      “Papa…?” she said. She couldn’t be sure of her own expression as he clamped down on her shoulders, brought her under his wing.</p><p>      Something merry, something joyous, something wicked and primal and gorgeous and horrifying lived within in Astarion’s eyes. So red, so awake… they were molten and wild and Lirella wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a thing so beastial and alluring.</p><p>      “I was just about to get you. I have a surprise for you.”</p><p>      “You… do?”</p><p>      He gave her forehead an excited kiss. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you moping about the house these past few days, or… stealing my finest wines. I’ll take that back.”</p><p>      Astarion slipped the bottles from her grasp with ease.</p><p>      “Honestly, dear, we need to work on a few things. Your thievery is about as subtle as a goblin raid. But, nevertheless, I got you a little present. Something to cheer you up. Better than the wine can, anyway.”</p><p>      Before she could object to any of it, he’d been ushering her toward the cellar, gripping her to his side. His pace was quick. Excited steps urged her along, the look in his eyes somehow invigorating enough to keep up with him. Something in his little giggles, or perhaps the smile lines creasing his face, had already chipped away at her melancholy. He was contagious like that. Quicker and more deadly than his bite, Astarion’s charisma stabbed right through the heart, filling the veins with codependence. Obsession. Until his world was your will. Your world was him.</p><p>      Whether emanating from him or the blood in his clothes, a smoke of metallic adrenaline clouded her senses. And fuck if it didn’t make her want to laugh with him, though she didn’t yet understand the joke. She was being swept into another one of Astarion’s moods and she hadn’t the will to protest.</p><p>      “Come, come.” he laughed, near shoving her into the room. The basement had two purposeful parts. The first being an ordinary larder. Rows of grain barrels and ambiguous crates lined the walls. Tools and wears for servants to sort through were planted about. Here, foodstores for an ordinary family sat ordinarily. The second, hidden beneath the first by both rug and spell, was the trapdoor that lead to the real foodstores which Astarion opened with one good tug. Deep below the manor, where no screams could flee, was the old crypt. A dungeon for those who waited to become dinner.</p><p>      Astarion took her arm in his and lead her down into the cold darkness. Horror and humidity stained the walls here. The unfeeling stones held within their cracks all the unheard pleas and agonized wails of its shackled inhabitants. How many lives were drained down here, Lirella couldn’t be sure. But surely enough to feed not only her own voraciousness, but her father’s, and all the other spawns that amounted within the years.</p><p>      They passed by Taran, a spawn much beloved, as he set dry, exsanguinated cadavers into a sizeable stove. He gave Lirella a pleasant nod. Usually everyone was so careful not to waste a drop of blood that the only smell down here would be the mildew and the minimal amount of flesh-charred fumes escaping the stoves. That day, however, the crimson iron aroma roiled through the air.</p><p>      Astarion brought Lirella into the furthest room where the smell was so strong the walls themselves could’ve been bleeding. His gaze expectant, his smile wide… happy fangs beneath happy lips…</p><p>      “For you, my dear.” he said.</p><p>      And there they were. Hung up like salted slabs of beef. <em>Fredegar Rames, </em>his stupid pimpled face now stupid and half torn<em>. </em>Cheeks flayed, peeled like fatty petals. Eye gone.<em> Jos Rames. </em>Foot dangling by thin little meats. Arms broken, the joint hanging low, free, inside the skin. <em>Galter Haen. </em>A beautiful black hole in his gut, birthing pink organs. Meat on the floor. Existence slopping onto cold stone.</p><p>      Lirella stood stunned. Tears pushed at her eyes. A grin began to build from trembling lips.</p><p>      “Papa…”</p><p>      “I’ll admit,” said Astarion, reaching for one of the tools on the slab beside Fredegar, “I almost couldn’t stop myself after the first few slashes. They squeal so easily.”</p><p>      It was a slim, tiny blade that he chose. He brought the tip of it to the boy’s armpit and slit the skin all the way down to his hips. On a corpse the line would’ve been straight and precise. But with Fredegar’s frantic wiggling, it zigzzagged like the rolls of fat on his body. Every curve a story of his struggle. Astarion dipped his fingers along the seam he’d made, pulling back the skin to the muscles beneath.</p><p>
  <em>Stab. Trace. Stab. Stab. Deep into meat. Metal to muscle. Twist, tug. The seam turning redder, redder…</em>
</p><p>      Fredegar’s screams were blades hacking and sawing at the air. Uneven, discordant wails that Lirella didn’t know she needed. They filled her like a good meal, almost as enlivening. Just as delicious.</p><p>      “But this,” Astarion smiled, “This is my gift to you.”</p><p>      He moved sharp. Excitedly. His finger grabbed at the boy’s half shredded face. Taught. Digging. Fingering the deep slashes.</p><p>      “Apologize to her.” he growled.</p><p>      The teen’s face was slick with snot. Sobs wrenched from his mouth like a rusted door hinge.</p><p>      Astarion moved his face closer, his voice deeper, torn with menace. “The only reason you’re even still alive is so you can look her in the eyes and realize how fucked you were the moment you even thought about putting your filthy hands on her. Now apologize you fat fucking whelp. Or I’ll make this last months.”</p><p>      He pinched at the exposed muscle when the boy took too long to catch his breath. Such a mortal weakness.</p><p>      “You really thought— <em>You really thought </em>you were just going to hurt <em>my</em> daughter, hold her under running water, and laugh! Fucking laugh! And nothing was going to happen to you? I bet you didn’t consider that even if you were right and it turned out that she’s indeed a vampire, that her father would hunt you down and make you suffer every last agony you made her endure.”</p><p>      “Mommy!” cried the boy. Urine raced down his breeches. Beside him, his brother Jos vomitted a thick soup of yellow-brown down his chest. He wept like a babe. His chains rattled with his pathetic seizure.</p><p>      “As if anyone could hear you scream down here. Now apologize to my daughter for what you did!”</p><p>      “I’m sorry!” Fredegar belted through mucus and blood. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”</p><p>      Astarion worked at another layer of muscle; flaying, peeling, ripping.</p><p>      He chuckled, “You didn’t even look at her. I know you only have one working eye now, but I think you can do better than that. Look her <em>in.the.eyes. </em>and apologize.”</p><p>      The boy craned one bloodshot eye toward Lirella. His head bobbled weakly as he held it up.</p><p>      “I’m… s-sorry… Lirella. I’m so sorry.”</p><p>      She knew she’d heard his words. Or the pathetic attempt at them. But all she could hear were the waves, the ripples. Their hoots and cheers. Sizzling of her skin. Along her arms, her legs, the water rushed like razors. It scalded, it shredded, it ripped down to the bone and chiseled even that. Somehow she was in flames beneath water, and yet too aware of the hand snatching between her thighs. It felt her up and down as she dissolved. It touched her… it toucher her…</p><p>      Lirella stormed her way toward him. At some point her fist found the handle of a corkscrewed pick that’d been laid on the tool slab. Her arm wanted it. Wanted to swing it. Wanted to extend her power. Hunger in her belly. But for something else. More filling than blood. More filling.</p><p>      By the fucking hells she wanted to feel the shudder of her muscle against this metal against his bone against his panic. Ride his trauma. Rip him open. Feel inside. That sweet fucking squelch.</p><p>      Her hand gripped hard into the handle.</p><p>      With a guttural cry, she drove the pick into his chest. Again. Again. Bask in the warm spray. Again. Again! Deeper until she hit bone. Break those too! Until his entire chest was nothing but a gaping wound, large enough to swallow everything whole.</p><p>
  <em> Fuck, fuck, fuck. She’d been hungry before, but this… but this was better. This was fucking better. </em>
</p><p>      The heart spurt, juices raining into her mouth. Down her dress. She tasted the last of his life, rolled it around on her tongue until she decided she didn’t like the flavor.</p><p>      “Your blood tastes like pure fucking pig grease!” she spat it back into his dead eye.</p><p>      His smile softer, more endeared, Astarion watched vengeance become her. Proud eyes, unblinking, watched her whole being tremble with rage. Blood spattered across him with every strike. The force of her swings reverberated even in his undead bones and yet he stood unmoved. Contetedness spread over his face.</p><p>       Even when the body ceased its movement, she struck until she couldn’t anymore. The terror had died with Fredegar, and with it the satisfaction. She stepped back. Her eyes wide and feral, but otherwise unbothered by the massacre before her.</p><p>      “A bit of overkill, don’t you think?”</p><p>      “No. Not enough.” said Lirella. The calmness of her tone sparked against the wrath of her voice like no sound a twelve year-old ought to have.</p><p>      She dropped the pick that had ribbons of tissue caught in its spirals. The tools on the slab were varied and meticulous. The only weapons she had used were her teeth and a dagger suited to her size. Sometimes, with enough practice, a bow could win her a meal. But while those were meant to kill, the devices before her were meant to torture. To prolong. And she ogled each of them with wide, consuming eyes.</p><p>      Hooks. Rope. Trocars. Clamps. There were claw-like apparatuses that seemed to expand and contract with the pull of a lever. Fist sized serrated metal fangs that looked like they could pierce and latch on tight to large bits of flesh. In the brazier, pikes and iron brands heated until they were bright and yellow.</p><p>      Lirella reached for a set of heavy crocodile-tooth pliers. They were smooth black iron. Old blood had crusted and brown on it edges. Had Papa used these before? On who? And why? No. No. She knew why. She knew the taste now. It didn’t matter who or what had been torn by this instrument before. Only that she wanted it to taste again.</p><p>      “You know how to use that?” Astarion asked.</p><p>      She looked down at the tool, then back up at Galter Haen. How he shrieked. The chains around his wrists rattled relentlessly in a last attempt to break free. But no matter how terrified he was, it would never be enough to spare him.</p><p>      “No.” she offered the word up sheepishly.</p><p>      “Here,” he came beside her, his hands over hers, “Let me show you.”</p><p>      Together they maneuvered the daggered clamps around the boy’s toe. The rusted iron found purchase easily, snagging onto bone.</p><p>      “The temptation will be to pull back. One big tug to rip his toe right off. But what you want to do is actually push forward. Push it up and backward. Nice and slow.”</p><p>      “Like this?” she mirrored his word. Galter’s big toe lifted toward him and he squealed. Unrecognizable pleas warbled through him. The flesh ripped, the join popped. Still attached, still throbbing.</p><p>      “Precisely. There you go. You got it. See it’s not all about strength, but rather your technique.”</p><p>      She beamed back at him. Where there was rage, there was some horrible somberness that settled over her. A terrifically somber delight. Lirella let go of the torture tool and raced into Astarion’s embrace.</p><p>      “You know I wouldn’t let anything in the world harm you. Not ever again. And should they ever try, I’ll make them suffer worse than they made you. Several times worse.”</p><p>      She smiled. “I would do the same for you. Now pick me up! I want to cut off his nose with the scissors. And then feed him his own fingers!”</p><p>      “Of course, darling. Of course.”</p><p>
  <strong> <b>••¤  🦇  ¤••</b> </strong>
</p><hr/>
<hr/><p>Lirella has her own Pinterest Board and Spotify Playlists now!<br/>⬇️⬇️⬇️</p><p>
  <a href="https://pin.it/4lZ5Ozw">Pinterest</a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/77yPW9VmnVMQR1YzvS4nJ4?si=cb057f6177264137">Lirella's Playlist</a>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So I didn't quite make my quota for one chapter a week as my procrastinating self predicted. Aw well. I hope this chapter makes up for it.<br/>I know that was a lot, so make sure to decompress and take of yourselves now.<br/>Comments and kudos are always appreciated, even if you stop by to tell me I'm a shitty writer doing shitty things.<br/>🖤🖤🖤</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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